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illustrent  la  mithode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

^^;| 


I    u  KE'S    SHRINE 


BV 


GRANT    ALLEN 


At' i  ifuK   or 


■..led  Ordfis,-    •' Bahylon,"   «' Philistia," 
"The  V/onun  Who  Did,"  Etc. 


^9 


AMSTI 
■IF Til  . 


> OMPANY 
■V  :  YORK 


'  'S^^:.:.-~j:M^tii^,'^"Si£WSmf.'^--x ' 


KALEE'S    SHRINE 


BY 


GRANT  ALLEN 


AUTHOR   OF 


«*Under  Sealed  Orders,"    "Babylon,"   "  Philistia,** 
"The  Woman  Who  Did,"  Etc. 


NEW   AMSTERDAM    BOOK    COMPANY 
156  :  FIFTH  :  AVENUE   :  NEW  :  YORK 


Authorized  edition  for  the  United  States 


KALEE'S   SHRINE. 


PROLOGUE. 


IN    INDIA. 

White-robed  and  dusky-faced,  the  ayah  hurried 
with   trembling:   footsteps   along  the   narrow   path 
that   threaded   tortuously   the   tangled    underbrush 
of  that  arid  thicket.     Her  feet  and  ankles  were  bare 
to  the  knee,  and  the  fine  gray  dust  that  covered 
them  deep  with  its  clinging  powder  bore  witness 
eloquently  to  the  distance  she  had  already  carried 
her  precious  burden— a  pretty,  sleeping,  two-year- 
old  baby.     It  was  not  her  own,  but  a  white  man's 
daughter ;  and  the  white  man  was  a  great  English 
sahib.     At  every  rustle  of  the  bushes  in  the  jungle 
by  her  side,  the  woman  shrank  back  with  terrible 
earnestness— shrank,  and  pressed  the  sleeping  baby 
tight  to  her  bosom ;    for  tigers  lurked  among  the 
tangled  brake,  and  the  cobra  might  at  any  moment 

5 


6  Kalee's  Shrine. 

cross  her  path  with  his  deadly  hood  erect  and  hiss- 
ing.    But  still  she  hurried  on.  alone  and  breathless, 
that  one  solitary  Hindu  figure,  tall  and  graceful  in 
her  snowy  robes,  with  the  unconscious  white  child 
strained  against  her  breast,  and  her  heart  leaping 
wildly  as  at  every  step  the  bangles  clanked  together 
on   her  brown  ankles.     The  fierce  hot  sun  poured 
down  upon  her  head  mercilessly  from  above,  and 
the  little  green  lizards  darted  away  with  lithe'  and 
sinuous  motion  at  the  fall  of  her  naked  dusky  foot 
upon  the  staring  gray  line  of  the  path  behind  them. 
The  woman  was  flying,  though  no  one  pursued 
her;  flying  with  the  stealthy,  noiseless  Indian  tread, 
and  looking  back  furtively  over  her  dark  shoulder 
with  eager  fear  every  now  and  again,  to  listen  for 
the  hoofs  of  approaching  horses.     But  no  one  came  ; 
no   one   followed   her:   and   she   wound   her   way 
silently,  alone,  through  the  jungle,  with  the  instinct 
of  the  serpent,    and   the  light,   unwearied,   gliding 
motion  of  the  Hindu  race.     The  sun   had  reached 
the  summit  of  the  heaven  now,  and  the  sahibs  at 
home  would  soon  be  thinking  it  time  for  tiffin. 

She  had  risked  all  upon  one  desperate  throw.     If 
only  she  could  return  in  time  to  escape  detection  I 

Presently  a  little  clearing  in  the  thicket  appeared, 
and  the  grimy  path  ended  at  last  in  front  of  a  tiny' 


Kalee's  Shrine.  7 

shabby,  brick-built  temple.  Around  it,  the  cleared 
area  lay  thick  in  dust,  and  the  garish  Indian  sun 
glared  hotter  than  ever  on  the  crumbling  plaster  of 
that  neglected  shrine— the  shrine  of  a  hated  and 
proscribed  worship. 

An  old  man  crouched  in  the  dust  before  the  door. 
He  was  a  squalid  old  man,  wrinkled  and  discolored 
with  age  and  filth  ;  his  matted  white  locks  straggled 
wildly  about  his  black  forehead,  and  his  lean  ribs 
showed  in  visible  outline  through  the  dark  skin  that 
seemed  to  hang  loose  in  folds  around  them.     A  few 
foul  rags  just  covered  his  loins,  and  the  rags  and  the 
mrm  seemed  almost  to  have  grown   together  into 
one  huddled  mass  by  long  companionship  and  as- 
cetic  filthiness.     He  did   not   lift   his  eyes   as  the 
woman  approached,  but  went  on  staring  vacantly 
at  the  temple  before  him,  and  repeating,  in  a  low 
monotonous   sing-song,    the   burden    of  a   ghastly 
Hindu  hymn  to  the  terrible  Kalee  : 

"  Oh,  thou  that  delightest  in  fresh  warm  blood,  in  red  blood, 
in  uhe  slaughter  of  thine  enemies;  girt  round  with  skulls! 
we  offer  up  to  thee  the  heart  of  the  victim." 

An  outcast  dog  that  lay  by  the  ascetic's  side  was 
munching  away  at  an  oddly-shaped  bone.  It  was 
round  and  smooth,  and  bare  at  the  top  ;  on  the  sides 


8 


Kalet's  Shrine. 


some  fragments  of  long  black  hair  still  clung  to  tiie 
horrid  object.  The  dog  pawed  it  and  gnawed  it 
with  his  teeth,  and  the  shallow  scalp,  rolled  in  the 
dust,  yet  showed  raw  and  hideous  where  his  fangs 
had  bared  it.  A  vulture  perched  on  top  of  the 
shrine ;  his  beak  was  red,  and  his  eyes  closed 
stupidly  in  the  broad  sunshine. 

The  woman  placed  herself  full  in  front  of  the  beg- 
gar-priest, and  with  an  imperious  gesture  of  her 
soft  round  hand  and  arm,  beckoned  his  attention. 
The  old  man  slowly  rose  at  her  bidding,  shook  off 
the  dust  from  his  back  and  shoulders,  and  stood,  a 
tottering  mass  of  bones  and  rags,  a  gaunt  outline  of 
fleshless  humanity,  bowed  double  almost  to  the 
ground,  before  her. 

**Well?"  he  asked  inquiringly,  in  a  shrill  quaver. 
*'What  do  you  wish?  Why  have  you  come.? 
What  brings  you  here  to-day,  to  the  shrine  of 
Kalee?" 

The  woman  trembled,  ai.d  drew  back  with  awe  at 
the  uttered  soand  of  that  unspeakable  name. 

"See!  see!"  she  cried,  holding  out  the  child  at 
both  cirms' length  and  quivering  as  she  spoke.  "I 
have  brought  you  an  offering— a  votary  for  Kalee." 

The  old  man  peered  at  the  child  incredulously. 
His  eyes  were  bleared  and  dim  with  sleeplessness. 


Kalee's  S'uine.  g 

"But  this  is  an  English  baby,"  he  said  at  last, 
after  a  long  pause.  "What  is  the  use  of  bringing  it 
here  to  us?  The  child  will  serve  tho  gods  of  the 
Christians.  Kalce  needs  no  half-hearted  votaries. 
The  Ulaclc  One  is  a  jealous  goddess  indeed,  visiting 
the  neglect  of  the  fathers  on  the  children  ;  and  those 
who  serve  her  must  serve  none  other." 

The  woman  gazed  at  him  with  wistful  eyes. 
They  were  beautiful  eyes— large,  and  soft,  and  dark, 
'•nd  tender, 

"Girjee,"  she  said  slowly,  "it  is  not  true,  Iknow 
the  child  can  be  dedicated  to  Kalee.  Listen  to  me, 
and  I  will  tell  you  why  I  wish  to  make  her  over 
to  the  greatest  of  the  goddesses.  She  shall  not  serve 
the  gods  of  the  Christians.  She  is  my  child.  I  love 
her  !  I  love  her  !  " 
The  fakir  smiled  a  horrible,  lean,  hungry  smile, 
"Then  give  her  over  willingly  as  a  sacrifice  to 
Kalee, "  he  an.swered  dryly. 

The  dog  ceased  from  gnawing  at  the  skull,  and 
looked  up  in  haste  into  the  woman's  eyes  with  eager 
expectation.  The  vulture  shifted  his  perch  uneasily. 
"Not  that!  not  that"  she  cried,  drawing  back 
the  child  to  her  bosom  in  terror.  "I  give  her  lo 
Kalee— freely,  willingly— but  as  a  worshipper,  a  vo- 
tary,  not  as  a  sacrifice." 


10 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


The  fakir  smiled  with  grim  deh'ght  once  more. 
"Kaleewill  have  victims  and  not  votaries,"  he 
answered  in  his   feeble,    tremulous,   senile  quLver. 
"Give  her,   above  all,  the  blood  of  her  enci-iies. 
One  sacrifice  is  worth  many  novices." 
The  ayah  bowed  down  her  face  to  the  child's. 
"Kalee  is  great,"  she  cried,  kissing  it  hard  ;   "but 
I  love  the  baby.     She  is  very  dear  to  me.     I  have 
nursed  her  at  these  breasts.     She  is  like  my  own 
daughter.     I  love  her  better   than  I  love  Jumnee. 
See    thes-   dimples  :    she   is  smiling  now.       Kalee 
protect  her  !     I  love  her  !     I  love  her  !  " 

The  dog  returned  to  his  bone,  disappointed,  once 
more,  and  licked  the  raw  scalp  all  over  afresh, 
cheated  of  his  hope  of  another  meal.  The  vulture 
blinked  his  eyes  sleepily. 

"Girjee,"  the  woman  went  on  again,  with  trem- 

bhng  hps,  "this  is  why  I  want  to  make  her  over  to 

Kalee.     They  will  take  her  away  across  the  great 

black  water,  away  to  England,  to   the  land  of  the 

Christians,  far  off  from  her  foster-mother  altogether. 

To-day  the  sahib  said  to  his  wife,  'Olga  shall  go 

soon  to  England.'     I  heard.     I  said  to  myself  in  my 

heart,  'They  will  rob  me  of  my  child,  and  she  will 

love  mt   no  longer,  and  forget  her  foster-mother.' 

But  if  I  make  her  over  to-day  to  Kalee,  though  they 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


II 


teach  her  to  love  the  gods  of  the  Christians,  the 
cold  white  gods  that  stand  on  pedestals  in  the  public 
places,  she  will  only  be  theirs  durino-  the  wakin<r 
hours  of  the  white  daytime  ;  at  night,  in  the  black 
darkness,  she  will  be  mine— mine  and  Kalee's  !  Is 
it  not  so,  brother  ?  " 

"It  is  so,  Gungia.  You  have  heard  rightly.  If 
a  child  be  dedicated  to  one  of  our  gods  or  goddesses 
of  India,  though  she  serve  her  own  gods  faithfully 
during  the  day,  in  her  sleep  she  will  be  theirs  for- 
ever and  ever.  If  you  give  the  sahib's  baby  to 
Kalee,  Kalee  will  watch  over  her  in  the  dead  of 
night,  and  be  a  bond  of  union  between  her  and  her 
foster-mother  for  all  the  incarnations." 

•'Then    take   her,    Girjee  !      Make   her   over   to 
Kalee !  " 

The  old  man  squatted  on  the  doorstep  of  the  tem- 
ple. "Do  you  know  the  penalty  .?  "he  asked;  "the 
token  of  Kalee  ?  The  child  made  over  to  the  great 
goddess,  can  never  again  close  her  eyelids  in  slumber. 
All  night  long  she  lies  with  her  soul  spellbound,  but 
her  eyes  staring  wide  open  and  fixed  upon  Kalee. 
The  sahibs  will  see  it  :  they  will  notice  her  eyes  : 
they  will  know  that  the  child  has  been  given  to  the 
Black  One." 

♦*No  matter,"  the  woman  cried  eat^erlv  :   "thfv 


ii 


12 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


shall  not  rob  me  altogether  of  my  pet,  my  darling. 
Though  the  great  black  water  roll  between  us,  she 
shall  know  me  and  love  me  in  her  sleep  always." 

Girjee  rose  once  more  from  his  seat,  and,  stretch- 
ing out  his  gaunt  and  haggard  arms,  took  the  un- 
conscious baby  in   his    lean   long   fingers.     At   his 
touch  the  child  awoke,  and  began  to  cry.     The  man 
dipped  one  skinny  forefinger  in  the  double  gourd 
that  hung  by  a  string  at  his  lank  thigh,  and  touched 
little  Olga's  lip  for  a   moment  gently    with  some 
sweet  white  mixture.     In  a  few  minutes  the  child 
was  asleep  once  more,  and  Girjee  and  the  ayah  turned 
solemnly  to  the  brick-built  temple. 

The  lintels  were  smeared  with  some  reddish- 
brown  coloring  matter  that  bore  a  suspicious  re- 
semblance to  stale  blood.  Within,  a  little  bronze 
figure  held  up  a  row  of  seven  small  lamps,  all  alight, 
burning  perpetually  before  the  altar  of  Kalee.  In 
the  central  shrine,  a  tiny  black  image  of  the  awful 
■goddess  herself  held  the  only  niche ;  for  Kalee,  as 
the  priest  had  said,  is  a  jealous  deity.  Her  lips 
were  stained  with  fresh  red  blood.  Kalee  that  day 
had  drunk  of  her  victim. 

The  priest  motioned  the  ayah  silently  to  his  left. 
She  stood  beside  him,  her  full  round  arms  crossed 
reverently  upon  her  half-open  bosom  :  a  beautiful 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


13 


woman,  in  the  purest  type  of  Hindu  beauty.  Tiie 
fakir,  lean  and  skinny  and  wrinkled,  took  his  place 
in  his  rags  beside  her,  before  the  shrine  of  Kalee. 
The  white  child  slumbered  all  unconscious  in  his 
hands.  He  laid  her  down  in  silence  tenderly  on  the 
altar.  ^ 

For  a  moment  there  was  an  awful  hushed  stillness. 
The  priest  bent  his  head  slowly  to  the  ground  :  the 
ayah  allowed  her  own  to  fall  in  muttered  prayer 
upon  her  bosom.  Both  with  mute  lips  murmured 
beneath  their  breath  the  short  litany  of  the  great 
goddess  Kalee. 

Then  the  priest,  taking  Olga  once  more  in  his 
arms,  cried  aloud  in  a  chanting  monotone  : 

"Oh,  Kalee,  goddess  of  the    Thugs,  whose  lips  may  only  be 

steeped  in  human  slaughter; 
Oli,  Kalee,  goddess  of    the  Thugs,  who  delightest  in  the  hot 

red  blood  of  the  victim ; 
Oh,  Kalee,  goddess  of  the  Thugs,  who  tearest  the  babe  from 

the  bosom  of  its  mother ; 
Oh,  thou  Black  One,  thou  fierce,  thou  terrible ;  oh,  thou  bloody 

toothed  ;  mighty  and  unspeakable ; 
Dark  as  the   night ;  of  mis-shapen   eyes ;   crowned  with   the 

trident ;  riding  on  a  tiger ; 
Horrible  of  horribles ;  Kalee    the  pitiless,  whose    fangs  are 

red  with  the  flesh  of  thy  victims  ; 
Take,  we  beseech  thee,  this  child  for  thine  own,  and  save  her- 

for  ever  from  tlie  gods  of  the  English, 
That  she   may   worship  Kalee  her  whole  life  long,  and  bring 

sacrifice  to  the  Black  One  in  her  sleeping  hours. 


M 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


Though    through  the  bright  day.  and  while  the  sun    shines 
she  worship  the  cold  white  gods  of  the  Christians 

Yet  in   the  dark  night,  and  when  the  shadows  fall,  may  her 
eyes  be  ever  open  for  Kalee  : 

Open  for  Kalee.  goddess  of  the  Thugs,  whose  lips  are  steeped 
inhuman  slaughter;  ^ 

Who  delights  in  the  warm  red  blood  of  the  victim,  and  tears 
the  babe  from  the  bosom  of  its  mother. 


As  he  spoke  he  swayed  his  lean  body  to  and  fro 
with  horrible  writhings,  and  dipping  his  right  hand 
in  a  bowl  on  the  shrine,  traced  a  trident  with  his 
skinny  fc  efinger  on  the  soft  skin  of  the  child's  white 
forehead.  The  trident  came  out  a  deep  scariet. 
There  was  blood  in  the  bowl  •  the  fresh  blood  of  a 
human  victim. 

The  woman  quivered  at  the  awful  sound  and 
sight ;  but  the  lean  priest  smiled  ecstatically.  His 
blear  eyes  looked  away  vaguely  into  the  dim  dis- 
tance. He  saw  but  Kalee.  He  was  lost  in  the 
worship  of  his  hideoi     goddess. 

There  was  silence  again.  Presently  the  man  took 
from  the  altar  once  more  a  small  dark  object.  It 
was  a  piece  of  flint,  sharp  and  clear-cut.  Girjee 
felt  its  thin  edge  caiefully  with  his  skinny 
finger. 

"Keen,  keen,"  he  cried, -like  tempered  steel-, 
the  black  dagger  pf  the  unspeakably  K^lee  I  " 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


15 


The  ayah  started,  and  laid  her  round  hand  eagerly 
upon  his  haggard  arm. 

"  You  will  not  hurt  her !  "  she  cried  in  terror. 
Girjee  pushed  her  back  with  a  gesture  of  scorn. 
"Kalee  must  needs  be  worshipped  with  blood," 
he  said.      -The  child  is  at  rest  :  she  knows  not  and 
feels  not.     Her  body— her  body  only  is  here :  her 
soul  is  away  in  the  air  with  Kalee." 

At  the  word  he  brought  down  the  flint  with  dex- 
terous gentleness  at  a  particular  spot,  first  on  the 
right,  then  on  the  left  temple.  The  child  winced, 
and  puckered  its  little  forehead  in  its  sleep,  but  did 
not  wake.  A  small  round  drop  of  blood  oozed  slowly 
from  the  tiny  severed  vessel  on  either  side.  The 
priest  dipped  his  finger  solemnly  in  each,  and 
smeared  the  blood  on  the  lips  of  the  goddess.  He 
smeared  it  with  deft  sleight  of  hand,  so  as  to  pro- 
duce a  faint  upward  laughing  curi  at  the  corners  of 
the  black  image's  mouth. 

"See  !  "  he  cried  to  the  trembling  ayah,  ^ Kalee 
is  pleased  to  accept  the  offering.  The  Black  One 
smiles.  She  smiles  on  her  votary." 
The  woman  bowed  her  head  in  awe-struck  assent. 
" Kalee  is  great,"  she  murmured.  -'All  praise  to 
Kalee,  the  swarthy  fury,  of  a  hideou.  countenance, 
dripping  with  gore,  crowned  with  venomous  snakes, 


i6 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


hung  round  with  a  garland  of  skulls  at  her  girdle  ! 
Kalee  is  great  !  Kalee  is  fierce  !  Kalee  is  terrible  ! 
Victory  to  Kalee  !  " 

Girjee  held  up  the  child  before  the  image  for  a 
second. 

''Olga,"  he  said  aloud,  for  he  had  caught  at  the 
name,  -  I  give  you  to  Kalee.     You  are  Kalee's  now, 
henceforth    and   for   ever.     Though   your    waking 
hours  belong  to  your  own    gods,  in  the   hours  of 
your  sleep  you  shall  serve  Kalee.     Remember  that 
Kalee  delights  in  slaughter.     Other  gods  are  merciful 
and  kindly  and  compassionate  ;  but  Kalee,  the  Black 
One,  thirsts  ever  for  the  living  blood  of  her  victims." 
He  hung  a  little  silver  image  by  a  thread  round  her 
neck.      '*  This  is  the  badge  that  you  belong  to  Kalee. 
Steep  her  lips  in  English  blood,  beyond   the  great 
black  water,  and  Kalee  will  love  you  as  her  faith- 
ful votary.     Milk  and  rice  and  oil  we  offer  in  pro- 
I  pitiation  to  the  other  deities  ;  but  blood,  blood  alone, 
is  the  fitting  food  and  proper  drink  for  the  thirsty  lips 
and  soul  of  Kalee." 

He  struck  the  altar  thrice  with  his  open  palm.  A 
tame  snake  glided  noiselessly,  at  the  well-known 
summons,  from  beneath  the  shrine.  Girjee  held  it 
gently  in  his  hand,  and  placed  its  speckled  head 
against  the  baby's  white  forehead.     The  snake,  pro- 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


17 


trudingf  its  forked  tongue  with  rapid  vibrations, 
licked  the  fresh  blood  greedily  from  the  trident  he 
had  smeared  there.  When  he  gave  the  child  back 
to  the  ayah's  arms  not  a  trace  was  left  upon  her  face 
or  forehead  of  that  mystical  ceremony.  The  woman 
turned  and  hurried  from  the  door,  crying  out  as  she 
fled  back,  "  Kalee,  Kalee  !  " 

And  Olga  Trevelyan   was  ever  thenceforth   the 
votary  of  Kalee. 


i8 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PERSONS    AND    PLACES. 

Thorboroi;gh-on-Sea  ranks  as  the  most  paradoxi- 
cally pleasant  of  all  our  minor  English  watering, 
places.     Paradoxically  pleasant  I  say.  because  in  its 
exterior  appearance  there  is  really  nothing  on  earth 
visible   io   r^ake   it   seem   so.      A   drained    marsh 
stretches  to  the  north  of  it :  a  drained  marsh  extends 
to  the  south  of  it :  and  a  drained  marsh  merges  on 
the  west  of  ii  into  low  wild  fiats  of  bracken-covered 
common.     To  the  east,  of  course,  lies  the  German 
Ocean.     The  town  itself-if  town  it  can   be  called 
that   town   is  none,   but   a  mere   long  line  of  old- 
fashioned  lodging-houses-occupies  a  petty  stunted 
islet  of  dry  land  in  the  midst  of  so  much  unpictur- 
esque  marshiness.     Nothing  in  Thorborough  com- 
mands  one's   love.     And   yet  everybody  who  has 
once  been  there,  still  would  go;  he  knows  not  why 
and  asks  not  wherefore.     The  whole  borough   like 
the  chameleon  of  popular  natural  history,  lives  on 
air  :  for  the  air  of  Thorborough  is  most  undeniable 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


19 


To  say  it  is  bracing:  fs  to  say  too  little.  It  exhila- 
rates the  heart  of  man  (and  woman)  like  the  best 
Sillery.  People  say  to  one  another,  with  an  apolo- 
gQtic  smile,  "Oh  yes,  of  course,  it's  very  ugly  ;  but 
the  air,  you  know— the  air  is  really  all  that  one 
comes  for. "  Whenever  a  place  has  absolutely  noth- 
ing else  on  earth  to  recommend  it,  you  may  look 
upon  it  as  a  foregone  conclusion  that  it  will  infal- 
hbly  plume  itself  on  the  purity  of  its  atmosphere. 

The  little  river  Thore  that  drains  the  surrounding 
marshes,  by  the  aid  of  windmills  at  the  side  sluices 
runs  into  the  sea  at  Thorborough  Haven.  There 
lie  the  fishing-smacks  that  keep  the  good  folk  of  the 
town  alive  in  winter,  when  they  have  no  visitors  to 
exploit  (as  men  exploit  a  silver  mine),  and  no  lodg- 
ers to  drain  of  their  gold,  as  in  the  summer  months^: 
and  there  the  longshoremen  ply  their  mysterious 
trade  of  picking  up  an  honest  livelihood,  in  the  off- 
season, by  standing  all  daylong  v.ith  their  hands  in 
their  pockets,  and  a  short  black  clay  stuck  idly  be- 
tween their  teeth  for  mute  companionship.  Around 
that  mud-blocked  Haven  centres  the  slumbrous  life 
of  Thorborough,  knowing  but  two  alternative 
phases:  in  summer,  pleasure-boats;  in  winter, 
bloaters.  An  ancient  and  a  fish-like  smell  pervades 
the  quay,  where  superannuated  mariners  lean  u'^oi^* 


20 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


the  old  cannon,  half-buricd  in  the  ground  as  posts, 
and  survey  mankind  from  their  coigns  of  vantage  in 
that  broad  spirit  of  generous  impartiality  begotten 
of  long  contact  with  danger  and  vicissitude. 

Nobody  (who  is  anybody)  ever  goes  to  Thorbor- 
ough-on-Sea  without  getting  to  know  Mrs.  Hilary 
Tristram.     Society  at  Thorborough  sums  itself  up  in 
her  pleasant,    cultivated,    and    hospitable    person. 
Her  house  stands  near  the  upper  end  of  the  Shell 
Path— the  sole   marine   parade   of  Thorborough,-^ 
embowered  by  the  only  trees  the  place  can   boast, 
much  blown  on  one  side  by  the  stern  east  winds  of 
March  and  April.     In  the  season,  which  lasts  for  six 
feverish  weeks  of  August  and  September,  Mrs.  Hil- 
ary Tristram's  expensive  house  teems  with  visitors. 
She  descends  upon  Thorborough  then   from  town, 
accompanied  by  a  brilliant  horde  of  followers-old 
men  and  matrons,  young  men  and  maidens,— and 
pervades  the  place,   as  long   as  she  remains',   with 
ubiquitous  detachments   of  herself  and  her  com- 
pany. 

"Olga,"  said  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram,  at  one  of  her 
biggest  garden-parties,  "allow  me  to  introduce  you 
to  Mr.    Alan  Tennant.     Mr.    Tennant,    this  is  my 
friend  Miss  Trevelyan.     You've  heard  of  her  father 
Qf  course-Sir  Everard  Trevelyan-Com  mission  er  of 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


21 


BritifMi  Bhootan,  and  the  eminent  botanist  ?  Ah  !  I 
tliought  so  ;  I  knew  you'd  remember  him  ;  you  take 
such  an  interest  in  everything  scientific." 

Oiga  Trevelyan  bowed  slightly  to  the  handsome 
young  man  her  hostess  had  introduced  to  her.  She 
was  a  beautiful  girl,  lithe  and  stately  ;  a  daughter 
of  the  gods,  divinely  tall  and  most  divinely  dark, 
with  large  soft  eyes,  and  a  lavish  wealth  of  silky- 
black  hair  that  blew  lightly  about  her  high  white 
forehead.  Something  strange  in  those  big  brown 
eyes  struck  Alan  Tennant  at  once  as  very  unusual 
— a  sort  of  falling  droop  of  the  lids  and  lashes  that 
he  had  but  once  before  observed  in  any  one.  For 
reasons  of  his  own  Alan  Tennant  was  profoundly 
interested  in  eyes  and  eyelashes. 

"Do  you  live  in  Thorborough  ? "  Olga  asked, 
simply,  raising  the  long  lashes  as  she  spoke  with 
a  sort  of  curious  effort,  and  speaking  in  a  sweetly 
musical  voice  ;  "or  are  you  only  a  summer  visitor 
down  here,  like  all  the  rest  of  us  ? " 

"A  visitor,"  Alan  Tennant  answered,  with  a 
pleasant  smile  :  "a  bird  of  passage.  I  come,  like 
everybody  else,  from  the  big  ant-hill.  A  London 
doctor,  in  fact,  out  for  my  holiday.  We  work  hard, 
you  know,  through  the  London  season,  and  we're 
glad  enough  to  get  away  now  and  then  for  a  breath 


*#•*• 


22 


Ka'ee's  Shiine. 


of  fresh  air  and  a  little  respite.  We  don't  quite  ful- 
fil the  apostoh'c  precept,  I  'm  afraid  :  we  're  often 
weary  with  weIl-doin^^" 

"Ah!  but  it  is  well-doing:,  you  know,"  Olga 
said,  timidly.  "  It  s  almost  the  only  profession,  of 
course,  where  a  man  can  be  quite  certain  he's 
really  and  truly  doing  good.  That  must  be  a  great 
consolation  to  you,  after  all,  among  the  endless 
discomforts  of  a  doctor's  life." 

"  Mr.  Tennant  hasn't  many  discomforts,"  a  pretty 
little  girl  at  her  side  interrupted  briskly.  "Have 
you,  Mr.  Tennant.?  He  doesn't  have  to  run  about 
at  night  and  visit  patients.  Don't  you  recollect  his 
name,  Olga  ?  He's  the  great  oculist,  you  know  ; 
the  famous  oculist.  He  only  has  to  sit  at  home  iii 
his  own  house,  with  a  most  imposing  butler  to  open 
the  door,  and  wait  for  people  to  pour  in  upon  him 
and  be  cured  immediately." 

Olga's  face  colored  up  sligh'iy.  "I  beg  your 
pardon,"  she  said,  with  still  more  marked  timidity. 
"I— I  suppose  it's  very  stupid  of  me  not  to  know 
it ;  but  one  can't  know  a//  Mrs.  Tristram's  friends, 
can  one,  Norah  ?  She  seems  to  me  to  know  half 
London." 

"And  the  other  hnlf  Isn't  worth  knowing,"  Norah 
Bickcrsteth  answered  il -htly. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


uite  fiil- 
e  often 


23 

"Miss 


pretty 
'  Have 

about 
ect  his 
know ; 
•me  in 
3  open 
n  him 

your 
lidity. 
know 
iends, 
V  half 

STorah 


The  youngf  doctor  smiled  once  more. 
Bickersteth  overrates  my  humble  merits,"  he  said 
with  a  careless  disclaimer.  "I  can't  pretend  to 
be  so  very  famous  that  not  to  know  mc  argues 
oneself  unknown.  To  recognize  all  Mrs.  Tristram's 
acquaintances  would  be  to  pose  as  a  walking  edition 
oi  Men  0/ the  Time,  with  a  bowing  knowledge  of 
all  the  bishops,  judges,  and  painters  in  England. 
Nobody  else  ever  expects  to  keep  pace  in  that 
matter  with  your  aunt,  IMiss  Bickersteth." 

Just  as  he  spoke,  the  hostess  herself  came  up 
once  more,  and,  with  an  apologetic  smile  to  Alan 
Tennant,  turned  gently  to  Olga  Trevelyan. 

''My  dear,"  she  said,  **I'm  going  to  carry  you 
off  again,  to  introduce  you  to  Lady  Mackinnon.  Sir 
Donald  knows  your  papa  in  India,  and  they  're  both 
of  them  just  dying  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
Mr.  Tennant,  I  see  you're  in  my  niece's  hands: 
take  care  Mr.  Tennant  is  introduced  to  everybody, 
Norah.  This  way,  Olga,  my  dear :  that 's  Lady 
Mackinnon,  the  dear  ugly  old  lady  on  the  chair 
over  yonder,  in  the  speckly  dress  and  impossible 
bonnet." 

"An  Indian  girl .?  '  Alan  Tennant  asked  inter- 
rogatively as  she  turned  away. 

"Yes,    an    Indian   girl,"    Norah  Bickersteth  an- 


24 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


s wered  with  a  smile.  ' '  A  great  favorite  of  auntie's. 
Isn't  she  beautiful,  Mr.  Tennant?  Isn't  she  deli- 
cious ?     Isn  't  she  charming  ?  " 

"She  ts  beautiful,"  the  young  man  replied  frankly. 
*' Delicious  and  charming  are  epithets  of  maturer 
knowledge ;  but  I  can  safely  say  at  first  sight,  I 
don't  know  that  I  ever  before  saw  anybody  quite'so 
beautiful. " 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  think  so.  She  's  just  a  darling. 
We  were  at  school  together,  you  know,  Olga  and  I, 
and  I  positively  love  her." 

*'  You  have  every  excuse,"  the  young  doctor  an- 
swered pensively,  glancing  after  Olga  as  she  moved 
with  lithe  and  graceful  motion  through  the  crowd 
on  the  terrace.  "What  exquisite  eyes!  It  may, 
perhaps,  be  a  professional  instinct  ;  but  I  think, 
Miss  Bickersteth,  a  pair  of  lovely  eyes  really  move 
me  more  than  anything  else  in  human  beauty." 

"Aren't  they  lovely!  So  soft  and  big!"  And 
Norah  Bickersteth  lifted  her  own  laughing  little  blue 
ones  to  the  young  doctor's  face.  "They  seem  to 
have  some  strange  fascination  about  them  that  I 
never  saw  in  anybody  else's  !  " 

A  military  bachelor  of  sixty  would  promptly  have 
responded,  "That's  because  you've  never  seen  your 
own;  "but  Alan  Tennant  was  younger  and  wiser: 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


25 


auntie's, 
he  deli- 

frankly. 
maturer 
sight,  I 
quite  so 


dadine. 
I  and  I. 


tor  an- 

moved 

crowd 

■   may, 

think, 

move 

r." 

'  And 
le  blue 
3em  to 
that  I 

r  have 
1  your 
rt'iser : 


he  merely  said,  "  Exactly,  Miss  Bickersteth  ;  I  quite 
agree  with  you." 

"There's  one  very  odd  thing  about  them,  too," 
Norah  Bickersteth  went  on  carelessly.  "Isn't  it 
funny  ?  0!ga  always  sleeps  with  her  eyes  open  ; 
she  never  shuts  them  day  or  night.  You  can't 
imagine  anything  so  queer  as  it  looks  to  see  her 
sleeping  with  her  eyes  staring  right  up  at  the 
ceiling." 

The  young  doctor  pricked  up  his  ears.  "Dear 
me  !  "  he  said.  "Are  you  sure  of  that?  I  noticed 
the  lids  had  a  very  curious,  unusual  appearance. 
There  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  falling  droop  about 
them,  as  though  they  half  closed  of  themselves, 
and  were  hardly  under  full  control  of  the  muscles." 

"Oh  !  I  'm  quite  sure  it  'sso,  Mr.  Tennant ;  I'  ve 
seen  it  often.  Olga  and  I  sleep  together,  and  you 
can  never  know  whether  she 's  awake  or  asleep  un- 
till  you  've  touched  her,  or  roused  her,  or  spoken  to 
her,  or  something.  She  lies  with  her  eyes  wide 
open,  and  her  eyeballs  staring  out  blankly  at  noth- 
ing, as  if  she  were  looking  at  some  invisible  person 
ever  so  far  away  in  the  dim  distance." 

"  She  comes  from  India,"  Alan  Tennant  repeated 
stroking  his  moustache  with  meditative  fingers. 
"  Odd  ;  very  odd  :  most  odd,  certainly.     I  had  once 


*i 


26 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


just  such  a  case  before— and  that  was  from  India 
too,— but  he  was  a  native  :  a  terrible-looking  old 
man,  with  bushy  eyebrows,  who  came  over  in  the 
retinue  of  the  Maharajah  of  somewhere-or-other  un- 
pronounceable. They  said  he  had  been  a  Thug  in 
his  youth.  I  could  easily  believe  it  :  a  fearful  old 
wretch,  with  white  moustaches  and  beard  and 
whiskers,  and  a  wicked  leer  about  his  bad  old  eyes, 
like  a  born  murderer's." 

"A  Thug!"  Norah  said,  shuddering  slightly. 
''That's  one  of  the  dreadful  strangling  and  murder- 
ing sect,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  a  homicidal  caste  or  sect  or  tribe,  I  think, 
who    worship   nobody   but   the   goddess   Kalee,    I 
fancy  they  call  her.     They  used  to  catch  travellers 
by  the  roadside,   strangle  them  and  rob  them,   and 
offer  their  blood  up  in  a  bowl  on  the  altar  of  their 
goddess.     A  very  neat  thing  indeed  in  the  way  of 
religions  !     However,  I  believe  that 's  all  put  down 
long  ago  now.     Old  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon   there 
stamped  the  very  last  of  it  out ;  he  tells  the  story 
himself  at   great    length— something   about    some 
little   forgotten   jungle   temple,     and    some    awful 
creature   of  a    mendicant    priest— a    hungry,    half- 
starved,    murderous  ascetic,   to  whom  the    last   of 
the  Thugs  used  to  bring  the  blood  of  their  human 


iij 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


27 


victims.  Capital  title  for  a  novel  that — The  Last 
of  the  Thugs.  Don't  mention  the  subject  to  Sir 
Donald,  though,  or  he  won't  let  you  off  under 
three  hours  and  the  minutest  details.  Nothing  on 
earth  would  induce  him  to  forego  a  single  item 
of  all  the  horrors  ;  he  perfectly  revels  in  human 
gore,  as  if  he  had  caught  it  from  the  Thugs  in 
person." 

"  Horrid  old  man  !  How  very  dreadful  of  him  ! 
But  this  Thug  patient  of  yours — did  he  keep  his 
eyes  always  open  too,  just  like  Olga  Trevelyan  ?  " 

"Well,  so  they  said;  and,  by  Jove!  when  I 
cam.e  to  examine  him,  it  was  certainly  true.  I 
found  two  tiny  scars,  one  on  each  temple,  most 
cleverly  cut ;  the  operator  had  severed  a  particular 
nerve  which  governs  the  opening  and  closing  of  the 
eyelids.  No  European  surgeon  could  have  done 
it  more  admirably.  I  made  inquiries  about  it,  but 
could  learn  nothing  from  the  man  himself ;  he  was 
very  reticent  on  the  subject — afraid  I  should  sus- 
pect him  of  complicity  with  Thuggee,  as  the  Anglo- 
Indians  call  it,  and  perhaps  get  him  hanged,  as  he 
richly  deserved  to  be.  However,  I  found  out  by 
asking  elsewhere  that  this  was  a  regular  custom  of 
the  Thugs.  Whenever  any  child  was  dedicated  to 
Kalcc,  as  was  the  case  with  every  well-conducted 


28 


Kalee*s  Shrine. 


Thug  baby   the  priest  used  to  make  a  little  incision 
on  each  s.de  of  the  forehead,  and  oSer  a  drop  of 

he  t  M 1"  '  ""'■'''  '°  "^  ^°'''^^^'     A'  '«-t  - 

ius      h     t' T":  '"™''  ^  '"*  '"  "^"'y'  -"» 'hat's 
us    the  tnck  of  .t,  he  very  cleverly  cut  the  nerve 

that  moves  the  erector  muscles  of  the  eyelid-  and 
after  that,  the  child  could  never  close  L  ey'el  or 
open  them  wide,  except  with  a  distinct  and  un- 
pleasant effort." 

0,''a?';;"^'?  '"''  "'^''  "^^  ■"^«-  --'h  dear 
Olga!  the  girl  ans,vered  quickly.  "She  can  only 
shut  her  eyes  if  she  tries  to  on  purpose. " 

"Ah  !  I  dare  say,"  the  young  doctor  .-ent  on  in 
an  unconcerned  tone.      "In  her   case,  no   doubt 
heres   been    some   slight    unintentional   injury   to 
the  nerves,  probably  from   disease,  or  perhaps  con- 
genital, and  the   eyelids  refuse   to  obey  the   will 
except   w.th  a  strong  and   deliberate   effort.     But 
these  Thugs,   of  course  did  it  on  purpose  ;  it  was 
a  way  of  showing  the  power  of  the  goddess.     The 
pnest  tells  them,   if  once   a  child   is  dedicated   to 
Kalee,    U   will  sleep   for   ever  after   with   its    eyes 
ope.i.     Kalee,  it  seems,  is  the  goddess   of  black- 
ness and  darkness  as   well  as  of  murder-murder 
bemg  presumably  a  dark  deed,-and  so  the  votary 
of  Kalee  never  shuts  his  eyes,  but  looks   out   for 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


29 


incision 
drop  of 
least,  so 
id  that's 
5  nerve 
id;  and 
eyes  or 
nd  un- 

■h  dear 
m  only 

:  on  in 
doubt, 
iry   to 
s  con- 
5    will 
But 
t  was 
The 
3d   to 
eyes 
)Iack- 
urder 
otary 
t   for 


ever  on   the  night  and  the  goddess.     A  very  inter- 
esting and  poetical  superstition  !  " 

*' And  did  you  cure  your  Thug  patient? " 
"Oh!  of  course;  cured  him  easily.  Merely  a 
quesdon  of  cutting  through  another  nerve — an 
inhibitory,  they  call  it, — and  the  thing  at  once 
recovers  its  normal  habit.  In  a  case  like  the 
Thug's,  I  mean,  that  is  to  say  :  your  friend  Miss 
Trevelyan  probably  owes  her  peculiarity  to  disease, 
and  that  would  be  a  far  more  difficult  matter  to 
tackle.  I  shall  watch  her  closely  now — only  don't 
tell  her  so.  She's  very  beautiful  (which  is  always 
interesting),  and  this  gives  me  a  professional  in- 
terest in  her  as  well.  But  I  shall  watch  her  all 
the  better  if  she  doesn't  know  about  it.  I  notice 
that  young  ladies,  when  they  know  you  're  watch- 
ing them,  fail  to  exhibit  that  regularity  of  demean- 
or and  unconsciousness  of  action  which  is  indis- 
pensable to  the  medical  mind." 

Norah  laughed.  "I  should  think  not,"  she  said 
gayly.  "How  on  earth  can  you  expect  us  to  be 
light  and  natural  if  we  know  you  've  got  your 
searching  eyes  fixed  firmly  upon  us  for  a  scientific 
purpose  ? 


I  n 


Alan  Tennant  certainly  kept  his  searching  eyes 


30 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


! 


firmly  fixed  upon  Olga  Trevelyan  all  that  afternoon. 
Wherever  she  moved,  his  keen  gaze  followed  her. 
And  he  was  vaguely  aware  in  his  own  mind   that 
his  interest  was  something  more  than  merely  pro- 
fessional.     He   had  achieved  fame  with  extraordi- 
nary  rapidity  ;    but  after  all,   a  man    can't  live  on 
fame   alone;    he    requires   some   emotion   a   little 
more  human  to  cheer  and  sustain  him.     At  twenty- 
nine,  men  are  still   very  human.     And  at  twenty- 
one,    women,    for   their   part,   are  very    attractive. 
Those  were  just  the  respective  ages  of  Alan  Ten- 
nant  and  Olga  Trevelyan. 

Once  more  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  he  had 
a    few   minutes'    passing   conversation    with  Olga. 
Norah  Bickersteth  took  them    round   together,  not 
perhaps  quite  by  accident,  *o  look  at  the  ferns'  and 
bananas  in    the  big    conservatory.       Olga's   voice 
was  sweet  and  low,  ana  she  spoke  with  a  grave 
yet  delightful    earnestness   that  mightily    took  the 
fancy  of  the  young  doctor.      "With  a  woman  like 
that,"   he   thought  seriously  to   himself,     "a   man 
might  do  some  good  in  the  world    in  his  genera- 
tion."     He  picked  a   superfluous    blossom  or   two 
from    the   conservatory    pots,    without   asking   for 
leave,  and  fastened  them   together  with  a  spray  of 
maidenhair  into  two  tiny  dress-bouquets^rcd  and 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


31 


had 


white  for  Olg:;,  yellow  and  blue  for  Norah.  Then 
he  handed  them  over  to  the  two  girls  with  not  un- 
graceful ok'-fashioned  politeness.  Norah  took  her 
little  bunch  coquettishly,  and  stuck  it  at  once  be- 
tween the  opening  of  her  bodice. 

"  I  shall  tell  everybody,"  she  said  with  her  laugh- 
ing voice,  "that  these  were  given  me  by  the  great 
Mr.  Tennant." 

But  Olga  held  hers  pensively  in  her  hand,  and 
hardly  seemed  to  know  whether  or  not  she  ought  to 
wear  them.  Later  in  the  day  he  saw  she  had  pin- 
ned them  daintily  in  her  bosom,  and  he  went  away 
feeling  the  happier  for  it.  To  such  absurd  little 
flutters  and  tremors  of  that  central  vascular  organ, 
the  he?'"*^,  is  even  the  scientific  breast  at  twenty- 
nine  a  ,    Uing  victim. 


32 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  ir. 

KALEE    IN    SUFFOLK. 

It  was  a  wild  and  awful  night,  some  evenings 
later,  on  the  shore  at  Thorborough.     Tlie  east  wind 
was  dashing  the  breakers  fiercely  upon  the  beach, 
a  mere  narrow  barrier  of  cast-up  shingle,  that  ill^ 
protected  the  long  line  of  parade  and  lodging-houses 
in  its  rear  from  the  fury  of  their  onslaught.     Sailors 
and  coastguardsmen  were  gathered  in  little  knots 
upon  the  Shell  Path,  eageriy  watching  the  fishing, 
smacks  that  fought  bravely  for  life  against  the  teeth 
of  the  gale  in  their  fierce  endeavor  to  make  the 
mouth  of  the  tiny  harbor.     With  scarcely  a  rag  of 
sail  up,  in  the  face  of  that  terrific  tempest,  one  after 
another  rode  aloft  upon  the  surf  of  the  bar,  and  sank 
again   invisible  in   the  intervening   troughs.      One 
after  another,  dexterously  steered  by  strong  hands 
and  stout  hearts  through  spray  and  billows,  made 
its  way  at  last,   groaning   and  creaking,   into  the 
haven    of   safety.      The   wind   howled   ominously 
through  the  slender  rigging,  and  shrieked  around 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


33 


the  corners  of  the  Thorborough  houses.  Anxious 
women  watching  from  the  beach,  wrung  their 
hands  in  terror  and  suspense  as  each  well-known 
hull,  driving  half-helplessly  ahead  before  the  force 
of  the  gale,  approached  the  long  white  battling 
breakers  of  the  bar,  and  tossed  about  like  a  cock- 
boat on  that  yeasty  turmoil  of  wandering  waters. 
Strong  men  held  their  breath  and  strained  their  eyes 
to  watch  the  fate  of  each  in  turn  as  it  fought  for  life 
with  terrible  earnestness  in  that  desperate  struggle 
against  the  maddened  elements. 

But  inside  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram's  house  on  the 
North  Parade,  nobody  noticed  the  storm  or  its  fury. 
Now  and  again,  to  be  sure,  the  groaning  of  the  wind, 
as  it  tore  round  the  gables  and  shook  the  beams  to 
their  very  foundations,  disturbed  a  little  the  tone  of 
the  grand  piano.  But  who  thinks  of  wind  or  sea  in 
a  well-lighted  room,  full  of  guests  and  music,  at  ten 
in  the  evening?  By  two  o'clock,  to  be  sure,  it  is 
very  different  :  then,  when  one  lies  awake  alone  in 
bed,  the  deep  roar  of  the  breakers  as  they  crash  upon 
the  beach,  and  the  wild  cries  of  the  wind  as  it  rages 
among  the  chimney-stacks,  absorb  and  engross  and 
appall  one's  spirit.  But,  earlier  in  the  evening,  lights 
and  company  make  all  the  difference.  While  the 
fisherwomen  outside,  but  ten  yards  off,  were  wring- 


34 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


mg   their   hands,    and   straining;   their   eyeballs    to 
eatch   the  dim  outline  of  the  tossing  hulls  by  the 
faint   glimmer   of  the   long  August  twilight,    Olga 
Trevelyan,  in  the  drawing-room  within,  was  singing 
a  pretty  English  song  ;  while  AlanTennant,  kaning 
over  the  piano,  was  pretending  sedulously  to  turn 
the  music,  which  he  could  only  read  by  the  aid  of 
Olga's  nod.     Alan  Tennant  was  always  handsome, 
but  in  evening  clothes  he  looked  handsomer  than 
ever ;  and  the  graceful  attitudes  into  which  he  seemed 
naturally  to  throw  himself  added  not  a  little  to  his 
manly  beauty. 

"  How  warm  and  cosy  you  all  look  in  here  !  "  the 
latest  comer  cried  cheerily,  as  he  entered  the  room 
to  fetch  his  sister,  a  Thorborough  native.  "  It 's  an 
awful  night  outside  with  a  vengeance,  I  can  tell  you. 
I  never  remember  anything  at  Thorborough  like  it. 
You'd  better  sit  up  all  night,  I  should  say,  Mrs. 
Tristram,  and  be  prepared  with  an  ark  to  carry  off 
your  goods  and  chattels,  in  case  of  the  deluge  ;  for 
the  sea 's  dashing  over  the  Shell  Path  like  a  young 
Niagara,  and  I  expect  half  Thorborough  '11  be  washed 
av/ay  to  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  by  to-morrow 
morning,  Future  generations  of  fishermen  will 
earn  a  precarious  livelihood  by  pointing  out  to 
future  generations  of  London  tourists  on  calm  morn- 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


35 


ings  the  foundations  of  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram's  cele- 
brated marine  villa,  under  five  fathoms  of  the  North 

Sea. " 

"  Is  it  really  so  very  rough  ?  "  Olga  asked  in  sur- 
prise, rising  hastily  from  her  seat  at  the  piano. 
"You   don't   mean  to  say   there's  any  danger,  is 

tliere  ? " 

"Well,  not  exactly  danger,"  the  visitor  answered, 
with  a  careless  wave  of  the  hand  :  "that  is  to  say, 
at  present,  you  know.     I  dare  say  Thorborough '11 
weather  the  gale  somehow  till   morning.     You're 
pretty  safe  up  at  the  north  part  here,  though  down 
below,  at  the  poor  end  of  the  town,  some  cottages 
may  really  go  squash  before  long.     But  the  fisher 
people  are  in  an  awful  way  :  the  smacks  are  half  of 
them   out  there  still.     What  was    that    you    were 
singing  as  I  came  in — wasn't  it  'The  harbor  bar  is 
moaning '  ? " 
'      Olga  blushed  a  deep  crimson,   and  clasped  her 
hands  nervously  as  she  answered,  in  a  half-penitent 
voice,    "Yes,    it  was:    'The  Three    Fishers.'     I'm 
sorry  1  sang  it.      How  terrible  to   think  that  while 
r  ve   been    singing  about  it  so  carelessly  in  here, 
the  poor  souls  outside  have  been  really  living  it  and 
feeling  it  in  grim  earnest !     Why,  just  listen  now  to 
the  shrieking-  of  the  wind  !     How  could  we   ever 


"Hi 


36 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


come  to  overlook  it  ?  I  shall  never  forgive  myself 
as  long  as  I  live  for  singing  that  song  while  the 
men  have  been  working  and  the  women  weeping 
in  stern  reality  so  close  beside  me  I  " 

"Only   ten    yards   off,"   the   yomig   man  of  the 
town  answered  casually. 

"Life  is  always  very  full  of  misery,"  Alan  Ten- 
nant  put  in,  endeavoring  to  relieve  the  poor  girl's 
evidently  genuine  distress.      "Nobody  knows  that 
better  than    we   doctors    do.     We  're  accustomed, 
unhappily,  to  coming  away  from  some  bed  of  pain' 
and  going  right  off,  with  a  smiling  face  and  a  flower 
in  our  buttonhole,  into  somebody's  drawing-room, 
just  as  if  we  really  thought  life  was  all  champagne 
and  Italian  opera.     It 's  well  for  most  of  us  that  we 
don't   always  realize  the  full  extent  of  the  misery 
around  us  :  if  we  did,  we  should  never  be  happy  at 
all,  and  tl.e  world  would  be  only  a  loser  in  the  end 
by  the  destruction  of  so  much  innocent  merriment. 
I  don't  think  you  have  anything  to  reproach  yourself 
with  to-night,  Miss  Trevelyan." 

"It  wasn't  a  comic  song,  anyhow,"  the  native 
ventured  to  suggest  good-humoredly.  "Very  ap- 
propriate to  the  situation,  I  should  have  said,  for  my 
part." 

"Ah,  but   when  the  misery  comes  so  very  near 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


37 


myself 
hile  the 
veeping- 

of  the 

m  Tell- 
er girl's 
vs  that 
tomed, 
»f  pain, 
flower 
-room, 
ipag-ne 
^at  we 
misery 
ppy  at 
le  end 
:ment. 
)urself 

native 
•y  ap- 
OT  my 

near 


one!"  Olga  cried  earnestly.  "When  one  seems 
even  to  insult  it  to  its  face  by  one's  untimely  hap- 
piness !  See — the  blinds  are  up  over  yonder :  the 
poor  ])eople  on  the  Shell  Path  can  look  in  upon  us, 
all  chatting  and  laughing  and  enjoying  ourselves  in 
here,  with  the  red  shades  on  the  lamps  and  the 
bright  dresses  on  the  women  ;  while  they  must  be 
watching  in  fear  and  wretchedness  and  despair  out 
there,  wringing  their  hands  and  wiping  their  eyes, 
and  praying  for  their  sons  and  their  fathers  and 
their  brothers  !  Oh,  it's  too  awful  !  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  it !  How  terribly  cruel  and  wicked  we 
must  seem  to  them  I  The  least  we  can  do  is  to  shut 
out  the  light. " 

And  as  she  spoke  she  moved  [^.ntly  to  the  win- 
dow, and  began  pulling  down  the  blinds  that,  with 
seaside  freedom,  has  been  left  undrawn  for  the 
whole  evening. 

"You  did  look  awfully  jolly  in  here,  certainly," 
the  native  murmured,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
makes  a  candid  admission.  "It  must  really  have 
seemed  just  a  little  bit  heartless." 

Olga  answered  never  a  word.  She  was  clearly 
too  much  distressed  at  the  incongruity  of  their  occu- 
pations to  care  for  any  more  conversation. 

"I  think,  Mr,  Tennant,  "  she  said  in  a  low  voice, 


38 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


"  I  shall  just  go  up  to  my  own  room.  I  can  look 
out  there  upon  the  poor  people  on  the  beach  outside. 
I  wonder,  whether  any  of  the  sailors  are  lost  ?  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself:  never,  never  !  " 

She  touched  his  hand  lightly  with  her  own,  and 
then  glided  unobtrusively,  with  a  slight  bow,  from 
the  room.     Alan  noticed  that  she  singled  him  out,  as 
it  were,  from  the  whole  company  for  the  sole  honor 
of  a  farewell  that  evening.     He  noticed  it,  and  felt 
once   more   that    peculiar  tremor-due,  as    he    im- 
agined, to  a  withdrawal  of  inhibitory  nervous  action 
from  the   muscles  of  the  heart.     (What  a  blessed 
thing  it  is  to  be  a  man  of  science  !)      But  then,  the 
next  moment  he  chilled  himself  by  reflecting,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  he  was  the  only  person  in  the  whole 
room  with  whom  she  was  just  then  and  there  en- 
gaged in  conversation,  and  that  she  was  evidently 
very  anxious  to  quit  the  company  as  unostentatiously 
and  quietly  as  possible.     Anyhow,  she  was  a  very 
tender-hearted  girl,  and  her  conscience  was  reproacli- 
ing  her  far  too  bitterly  for  a  mere  act  of  unconscious 
thoughtlessness,  which  she  had  amply  shared  with 
all  the  rest  of  the  party.     Alan  liked  her  all  the  better 
for  that,  however.     Earnest  men  are  always  attracted 
by  earnestness  in  women  much  more  than  by  flip- 
pancy. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


39 


can  look 
1  outside. 
?     I  shall 

)vvn,  and 
3VV,  from 
Ti  out,  as 
>le  honor 
and  felt 
he    iin- 
is  action 
blessed 
hen,  the 
?:,  on  the 
le  whole 
lere  en- 
vidently 
atiously 
1  a  very 
jproacli- 
»nscious 
ed  with 
e  better 
ttracted 
by  flip- 


He  went  back  soon  to  his  hotel,  and  Mrs.  Tristram's 
party  broke  up  for  the  night.  At  the  hotel,  which 
lay  at  the  south  end  of  the  town,  Alan  Tennant 
called  for  a  brandy  and  soda,  lit  his  cigar,  and  sat  up 
reading  a  sensational  novel  of  Gaboriau's  late  into 
the  evening.  He  wanted  to  see  if  the  smacks  all 
got  in  safely  ;  and  from  time  to  time  he  rose  from 
his  chair,  leaned  out  of  his  window  with  his  elbows 
on  the  frame,  and  inquired  from  the  little  knot  of 
men  below  how  the  fishermen  were  faring  through 
that  terrible  weather. 

Human  nature  is  very  complex  .      Alan  Tennant 
reflected  somewhat  remorsefully  to  himself  that  his 
main  interest  in  the  fishermen's  fate  was  not  for  the 
sake  of  their  wives  and  children  (whom  he  did  not 
know),  but  for  the  sake  of  Olga  Trevelyan's  tender 
conscience.      "  What  would  you  have  ? "  he  thought 
to    himself,    puffing   away   reflectively   at   his    big 
cigar.     He  had  never  seen  the  worthy  fisher-folk.     He 
had  seen  Olga  Trevelyan.     The  smallest  headache 
or  heartache  of  those  whom  you  know — and  love 
— he  thought  it  deliberately — is  ten  thousand  times 
worse  to  you,  rightly  or  wrongly,  than  the  bitterest 
griefs  of  the  vast  unknown  and  unnumbered  multi- 
tude.    A  child's  cut  finger  affects  his  mother  more 
\h^x\  £i  ft^mine  in  China  or  an  cc^rthcjuake  in  P^ru. 


■If 


f  7 


m 


40 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


■ 


It  must  needs  be  so.     How  can  you  help  it  ?    The 

man  you  do   not  know  is  an  abstract  idea  to  you  ; 

and  you  can't   possibly  sympathize  to  any  profound 

extent  with  a  mere  abstraction. 

By-and-by,  a  stir  and  noise  on  the  beach  below 
roused  Alan  dreamily  from  the  terrors  of  Gaboriau. 
Something  more  real  and  serious  was  evidently 
afloat.  Lights  appeared  on  the  foreshore  beneath, 
and  men  were  running  eagerly  about  before  him. 

Alan  put  his  head  out  of  the  window  and  called 
once  more  :  -  What  s  up  now.?  Anything  wrong? 
Smack  in  danger.?  " 

"No,  sir,  "  the  coastguardsman  answered  with  a 
loud  shout,  in  a  lull  of  the  wind  ;  -  smacks  are  all  in, 
the  Lord  be  praised  !  Vessel  in  distress  off  the  bar 
there.  Seemingly  collier.  We're  putting  out  life- 
boat. " 

Alan  rose  and  looked  at  his  watch.  Gaboriau  had 
proved  too  wickedly  enticing.  The  novel  was  a 
thrilling  one.     It  was  two  in  the  morning. 

He  seized  his  hat  and  a  light  dust-coat,  and 
hurrie<!  down  to  the  front  door.  It  stood  open 
still :  one  or  two  of  the  guests  were  on  their  way  to 
see  the  launch  of  the  Thorborough  lifeboat. 

The  boat  was  safely  pushed  through  the  surf,  and 
began  to  make  its  way  with  toilsome  lunges  among 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


41 


the  big  billows.      It  was  a  moonlight  night,  in  spite 
of  the  storm,  and  Alan  could  see  the  whole  scene 
from   where  he    stood,  distinctly.     A    crowd    was 
gathering    opposite    Mrs.  Hilary    Tristram's.     The 
vessel   lay   there,  a  black   hulk,  driving   helplessly 
before  the  gusts  of  that  awful  storm.     Alan  Ten- 
nant  followed  the  rest  of  the  world  to  the  scene  of 
action.     Only,  for  some  reason  best  known  to  him- 
self, he   walked,  not  by  the  beach,  but   along    the 
Shell  Path,  till  he  came  to  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram's. 
As  he  passed  the  house  he  looked  up.     All  the 
windows  were  dark  save  one  with  a  balcony.     There 
a  candle  burnt  upon  a  table,  and  a  huddled  figure  in 
a  soft  white  wrap  lay  with  its  face  buried  in  its  arms 
inside  the  window.     Whoever  it  was,  he  or  she  had 
evidently  fallen  asleep  without  undressing,  perhaps 
after  long  watching  at  the  window.     Alan's  heart 
beat  fast  and  high.      He  wondered  if  that  room  was 
Olga  Trevelyan's. 

His  hand  fell  for  a  moment  to  his  side.  The  last 
time  he  had  worn  the  dust-coat  was  to  the  theatre  in 
London.  His  opera-glasses  were  still  in  his  pocket. 
He  took  them  out  and  focussed  them  on  the  vessel. 

It  was  an  awful  sight.  The  bare  black  hull  drifted, 
drifted,  drifted  hopelessly  among  the  huge  white 
breakers   that   roared   and  shivered   and    careered 


ii 


42  Kalee's  Shrine. 

around  her.     She  was  a  collier,  no  doubt,  a  heavily- 
laden  collier,  loaded  down  to  the  very  verge  of  Plim- 
soll's  line,  and  a  rackety,  unseaworthy  tub  at  that- 
a  coffin-ship  of  the  worst  type  in  fact,  if  ever  there 
was  one.     Her  masts  and  rigging  were  all  long  since 
torn  away,  and  a  bit  of  loose  canvas,  hastily  fas- 
tened to  the  broken  stump  of  the  mainmast,  alone 
carried  her  on  before  the  raging  tempest.     One  dark 
figure  stood  beside  the  stump  ;  another,  dimmer  and 
harder  to  make  out,  still  grasped  the  tiller.     The  rest 
were  gone  :  all  washed  overboard. 

Presently  the  moonlight  fell  fuller  upon  her  Alan 
then  saw  by  the  shimmer  of  the  rays  that  the  shape 
by  the  stump  was  a  tall  man  ;  but  the  other  hud- 
dled up  in  frantic  terror  at  the  helm,  was  the  figure 
of  a  woman. 

The  lifeboat  tugged  and  urged  her  course  in  vain 
The  storm  was  too  fierce  for  her  to  make  any  defi- 
nite headway  against  its  overwhelming  force.  The 
man  on  the  wreck  beckoned  them  frantically  on 
Accustomed  as  he  was  to  sights  of  pain,  this  sight 
of  terror  made  Alan  Tennant's  blood  curdle  in  his 
vems,  and  his  breath  seemed  to  fail  heavily  in  his 
nostrils. 

Next  moment  a  huge  breaker  dashed  over  the  hull. 

When  the  foam  riparf»rj  q^r^,.  i  xi.    , ,    , 

,....,  ^— ,,v^  ana/,  aua  Uie  Ui^cl?  yVTQQU 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


43 


reappeared  for  a  second  against  the  gray  horizon  on 
the  crest  of  a  wave,  the  man  was  gone.  The  woman 
alone,  drenched  and  dripping,  clung  madly  and  des- 
perately to  the  unbroken  tiller.  It  was  clear  she 
was  lashed  there.     They  might  yet  save  her. 

The  lifeboat  drew  a  little  nearer.  Stroke  after 
stroke,  she  gained  upon  the  wreck.  It  was  a  neck- 
and-neck  race,  now,  between  death  and  the  deliver- 
ers. Every  heart  within  that  watching  crowd  on 
shore  stood  still  and  waited  as  the  light  craft  almost 
touched  the  broadside  of  the  sinking  vessel.  Then 
a  terrible  billow  burst  upon  her  once  more ;  the  life- 
boat bounded  away  like  a  cork  on  the  surface  ;  and 
the  wreck,  foundering  before  their  very  eyes,  sank 
to  the  bottom  in  a  great  round  eddy. 

As  it  sank  the  w^oman  threw  up  her  bare  brown 
arms  toward  heaven  in  unspeakable  horror.  Every 
eye  saw  her  for  a  second  silhouetted  black  and  aw- 
ful against  the  moonlit  sky  :  the  next  instant  she 
was  gone  forever.  Not  a  sound  rose  above  the 
roaring  of  the  sea;  but  Alan  Tennant,  watching 
with  his  glass,  seemed  actually  to  behold  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face  her  wild  death-scream  of  unut- 
terable agony. 

At  that  moment  a  strange  noise  burst  suddenly 
and  incongruously  upon  hit?  startle^  ears— Ji  M0i5§ 


10,     ■ 


44 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


audible  even  in  the  midst  of  that  terrible  turmoil  : 
the  loud  aiAd  joyous  laugh  of  a  woman.  It  was  no 
hysterical  outburst  of  emotion  at  the  ghastly  sight : 
it  was  no  uncontrollable  explosion  of  feehng  :  it  was 
simple  laughter,  merry  and  triumphant  ^^  -cstatic 
paean  of  a  victorious  player.  The  laug: .  seemed 
to  mock  the  agonized  death-throes  of  the  drowning 
woman.  There  was  something  positively  fiendish 
and  inhuman  in  the  reckless  glee  of  that  inopportune 
merriment. 

What  ghoul  could  thus  insult  the  most  frantic  ter- 
ror of  dying  humanity?  What  devilish  joy  could 
thus  brutally  obtrude  itsel  upon  the  wrought-up 
feelings  of  those  awestruck  spectators  ? 

Alan  Tennant  turned  to  look.     On  the  lighted  bal- 
cony of  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram's  house  the  window 
had  been  flung  carelessly  open,  and  a  young  girl,  in 
evening  dress,  a  woollen  wrap  cast  lightly  round 
her  shoulders,  and  a  faded  bouquet  of  red  and  white 
flowers  held  tight  in   her  right  hand,  stood  gazing 
out  with  big  luminous  eyes  straight  upon  the  blood- 
curdling scene  before  her.     The  girl  was  tall,  and 
graceful,    and   beautiful:    but   in    her   proud    face, 
lighted  up  by  the  solitary  candle,  appeared  no  tinge 
of  sympathy  or  suspense   or   terror.     She  looked 

with  calm  pvpxsnf  th'^onnt  »«'V,'>r'^  *-V- '    '      »  • 

7         _^  — —^  tis^^puL  vviicrc  lac  vviucK  nadjust 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


45 


foundered  so  awfully,  and  she  laughed  like  a  maniac 
at  the  horrible  catastrophe  ;  laughed,  and  laughed, 
and  laughed  again,  with  inextinguishable  merriment, 
as  though  the  sight  of  the  drowning  woman  were  to 
her  unnatural  soul  the  most  amusing  and  delightful 
episode  in  all  creation. 

Alan   Tennant  stood  there  spellbound.     The  girl 
in  evening  dress  was  Olga  Trevelyan  ! 


Am 


46 


Kalee's  SJirine. 


\ 


i 


CHAPTER  III. 


■m 


SECOND    THOUGHTS. 

For  a  minute  or  two  he  could  neither  move  nor 
speak  :  the  jar  of  that  horrid  unearthly  laughter 
bursting  upon  him  at  so  solemn  a  juncture  had  too 
wholly  unmanned  him  for  word  or  motion.  His 
head  swam.  He  merely  steadied  himself  feebly 
with  his  hand  on  the  broken  windlass  that  stood, 
gaunt  and  rusty,  upon  the  bare  Leach,  and  gazed 
up,  horror-struck,  at  the  balcony  window. 

Then,  slowly,  his  senses  came  to  him  again,  and 
his  professional  instinct  got  the  better  once  more  of 
his  half-superstitious  awe  and  amazement.  Gabo- 
riau  and  the  terrible  scene  before  him  combined 
must  have  conspired  to  deprive  him  for  a  moment 
of  his  wonted  calmness.  The  weird  sight  had  tem- 
porarily overcome  him  :  but  now,  with  a  sudden 
effort  of  will,  he  faced  and  explained  to  himself  the 
whole  mystery.  Olga,  his  beautiful,  tender  Olga— 
(he  would  call  her  so  still  !)-could  never  knowingly 
have  laughed  like  that  at  so  ^wful  m  episQde,     If© 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


47 


)ve  nor 
aughter 
lad  too 
n.  His 
feebly- 
stood, 
I  gazed 

in,  and 
nore  of 
Gabo- 
Tibined 
loment 
id  tern- 
sudden 
elf  the 
Olga- 
ivingly 


remembered  at  once  what  Norah  had  told  him. 
Olga  slept  always  with  her  eyes  open.  Clearly— 
clearly  she  was  asleep  now  !  That  must  be  the  ex- 
planation of  her  seeming  callousness.  Callousness  ? 
Nay,  rather,  if  she  were  really  awake,  devilish  ex- 
ultation at  a  fellow-creature's  dying  agony. 

He  cast  his  eyec  nervously  towards  the  beach. 
Had  any  of  the  crowd   observed  or  overheard  his 
beautiful  Olga .?     Thank  heaven  !     No,  not  a  soul 
of  them  anywhere  !     They  were  all  too  absorbed 
with  the  incident  of  the  wreck  to  think  of  watching 
Mrs.  Tristram's  windows.     They  were  eagerly  fol- 
lowing the  half-overpowered  lifeboat  in  its  d'^spair- 
ino-  struggle  to  return  shoreward  from  its  vain  and 
fruitless  errand  of  mercy.     No  eye  or  ear  on  earth 
save  his  own  had  noted  in  any  way  that  appalling 
interlude  of  unconscious  laughter.     No  living  soul 
but  himself  knew   anything  about  it;  and  he— he 
could  never  misunderstand  or  distrust  in   any  way 
his  beautiful  Olga. 

He  hated  himself  for  having,  even  for  one  second, 

seemed  to  doubt  her. 

For  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  at  that  supreme 
moment,  the  truth  had  forced  itself  with  startling 
vividness  upon  Alan  Tennant's  wavering  soul,  that 
he  was  profoundly  in  love  with  Olga  Trevelyan. 


4« 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


If 

I:"  I 


He  knew  he  loved  her.     He  was  certain  he  loved 
her.     The  very  force  and  intensity  of  his  momentary 
revulsion,    when    for   one   brief  space   of  time   he 
imagined  the  laughter  was  really  wrung  from  her 
by  that  awful  sight,  in  itself  revealed  to  him  the 
depth  and  reality  of  his  new-born  passion.     It  was 
long  past  midnight,  and  in  those  deepest  hours  of 
the  waning  night   the  heart   of  man  knows  itself 
with  more  profound  intensity  than  ever  elsewhere. 
Alan   Tennant    knew   now   without   a  shadow    of 
doubt  thrt   he  was  desperately  in  love  with   Olga 
Trevelyan. 

He  grasped  his  opera-glass  feverishly  in  his  hand. 
The  last  time  he  used  it  was  at  the  theatre  in  Lon- 
don. And  the  opera  that  night— ha— it  w-^s  La 
Sonnamhula  !  The  coincident  gave  him  a  pregnant 
hint  at  once.  Olga  Trevelyan  must  clearly  be  a 
somnambulist ! 

He  levelled  the  glass  at  the  window  once  more. 
Olga  stood  gazing  out  tranquilly  still,  with  spark- 
ling eyes,  directed  now  at  him,  and  now  at  the  spot 
where  the  ship  had  just  foundered.  Already  Alan 
had  almost  forgotten  the  terror  of  the  wreck.  His 
whole  interest  and  anxiety  centred  now  on  this 
deadly  mystery  of  Olga's  proceedings. 

"My   darling!"  he   murmured  to   himself,   half 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


49 


below  his  breath.  "My  darling!  My  darling! 
She  shouldn  't  expose  herself  at  night  like  that,  even 
in  August !  The  cold  will  hurt  her  :  it  will  chill  her 
blood.     Shall  I  call  them  up,  and  tell  them  to  wake 

her  ? " 

A  dark  figure  stood  unseen  behind  him  :  hidden 
from  his  sight  by  the  windlass  on  the  beach.  The 
dark  figure  was  watching  too— watching  them  both 

with  a  strange  and  half-superstitious  eagerness. 

It  was  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,  the  retired  Anglo- 
Indian,  who  had  brought  down  his  yacht,  and 
leased  the  Manor  House  at  Thorborough  for  the 
season.  A  weird  fancy  seemed  to  chain  him  to  the 
spot.  He  cast  his  eyes  from  Alan  to  Olga,  and 
from  Olga  to  Alan,  in  alternate  scrutiny. 

Alan  gazed  still  at  the  balcony  window,  in  doubt 
what  action  he  should  take  to  recall  her  once  more 
to  her  senses. 

lust  at  that  moment,  a  white  shape,  dimly  seen 
in  the  room  behind,  glided  with  noiseless  feet  across 
the  floor,  and  putting  forth  a  soft  fair  hand,  with  a 
bangle  gleaming  on  the  wrist,  caught  Olga's  arm 
ju^t  below  the  shoulder,  and  pulled  her  gently  from 
the  open  balcony.  A  curtain  screened  the  shape 
from  fuller  view,  but  Alan  Tennantknew  intuitively 
that  it  was  irorah  ijickerstetfi, 
4 


ill 
<1 


50 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


With  a  sudden  cry,  Olga  started  in  alarm  and 
flung  up  her  hands— flung  them  up,  as  Alan  noticed 
half-unconsciously  in  the  haste  of  the  moment, 
exactly  as  the  woman  lashed  to  the  wreck  had  flung 
up  hers  to  the  heavens  above  in  her  last  death- 
throes. 

Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,  unseen  behind,  noted  the 
coincidence  as  eagerly  as  Alan  did. 

There  was  an  instantaneous  flurry  and  excite- 
ment in  the  house,  a  ringing  of  bells  and  lighting  of 
candles,  as  Alan  judged  by  the  glare  at  the  upper 
windows  ;  and  then  the  front  door  opened  suddenly, 
and  a  man-servant,  half-dressed  and  loosely  muffled 
round  the  throat,  came  out  in  haste,  as  if  sent  at  full 
speed  in  search  of  a  doctor. 

"Anything  the  matter?"  Alan  cried,  coming 
up  to  him  hurriedly. 

"  Miss  Trevelyan's  took  ill,  sir,"  the  man  answered 
with  a  start.  "Had  a  fit  or  something.  I'm  going 
for  Dr.   Hazleby." 

"Go  quickly,"  Alan  said  with  an  eager  heart. 
"But  it '11  be  some  time  before  you  can  get  him 
up  :  he  sleeps  soundly.  I  'm  a  medical  man  myself. 
In  such  an  emergency,  I  think  it  would  be  no  breach 
of  etiquette  if  I  were  to  watch  Miss  Trevelyan  until 
he  comes  to  see  her.     Every  minute'3  precious  in 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


51 


cases  like  this.     I'll  go  into  the  house  at  once  and 

see  her. " 

He  walked  to  the  door  and  rang  the  bell.  Mrs. 
Hilary  Tristram  herself  (in  a  becoming  dressing- 
gown  and  mob-cap—nobody  ever  took  Mrs.  Hilary 
Tristram  at  a  disadvantage)  opened  the  door  for  him 
in  much  agitation. 

"Oh,   Mr.  Tennant,"   she   cried,    "I'm  so   glad 
you  Ve  come.     What  late  hours  you  must  keep,  to 
be  sure  !     Naughty  man  :  ruining  your  constitution. 
Poor  Olga's  had  such  a  dreadful   turn  !     She   was 
sleeping  in  Norah's  room,  as  usual ;  and  when  thov 
went  up  to  bed;  you  know,  Olga  would  sit  up  and 
watch  the  waves— she's  so  sentimental !     And  she 
said   perhaps    the  fishermen    would   be    drowned. 
Poor  souls  !  but  then,  I  supi>ose  they  're  used  to  it. 
Been   accustomed  to   drowning   all   their   lives,  of 
course  ;  though  I  know  it 's  only  once  fatal.     Well, 
Norah   went  to   bed,  like  a  sensible  girl,   and   fell 
asleep  :  but  Olga  sat  up,  watching  by  the  window, 
and  by-and-by,  as  might  naturally  be  expected,  she 
dozed  off,  with  her  arms  on  the  table.     In  time,  it 
seems,  she  got  up,  still  fast  asleep,— I  'd  no  idea  the 
poor  child  was  a  somnambulist,— and  opened  the 
window,   and   stepped  on  to  the   balcony.     There 
she  stood,  catching  her  death  of  cold,  heaven  knows 


52 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


how  long,  till  Norah  happened  to  wake  with  a  start, 
and  found  her  laughing,  positively  laughing— in  her 
sleep,  you  understand— at  the  top  of  her  voice  too  I 
Nora  crept  out  and  touched  her  with  her  hand,  and 
the  poor  child  she  just  sprang  back,  and  screamed 
and  fainted.  I've  sent  for  Dr.  Hazleby,  who  lives 
quite  near ;  but,  meanwhile,  perhaps  you'd  like  to 
go  up  yourself  and  see  her." 

Alan  followed  her,  without  a  word,  into  the  room 
where  Olga  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  still  dressed  in  her 
evening  dress,  and  grasping  in  her  hand— his  heart 
beat  fast— the  little  bouquet  he  himself  had  given 
her  I 

She  was  very  white  and  cold  and  pallid.  He  felt 
her  pulse:  it  beat  feebly.  Clearly  she  had  just 
passed  through  some  nervous  crisis,  which  had  left 
her  weak,  and  weary,  and  flaccid.  He  had  seen  a 
good  deal  of  hospital  practice  before  an  almost 
accidental  success  in  a  critical  operation  had 
brought  him  name  and  fame  as  an  oculist;  and 
he  recognized  at  once,  from  Olga's  condition, 
that  the  crisis  must  have  been  a  very  severe 
one. 

Her  face  was  turned  to  the  sofa-back  as  she  lay. 
Alan  took  her  head  gently  and  reverently  in  his 
hands,  and  turned  it  towards  him.     As  he  did  so  he 


'.  n 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


53 


gave  a  little  involuntary  start :  the  eyes  were  staring 

wide  and  open. 

He  knew  it  before.  He  fully  expected  it.  And 
yet  the  sight  of  that  vacant  stare— not  fixed  on  any- 
thing near  or  earthly,  but  gazing  intent,  with  rigid 
pupils,  as  on  some  terrible  object  at  an  infinite 
distance— alarmed  and  appalled  him  in  some  myste- 
rious manner. 

"Olga!  Olga!"  he  half  whispered  in  his  dis- 
may. Then,  recollecting  himself  hastily,  he  said 
aloud,  "  Miss  Trevelyan  !     Miss  Trevelyan  !  " 

Olga  lay  as  motionless  as  a  corpse,  and  never 
turned  or  seem  to  hear  him. 

The  young  man  leaned  over  her  closely  and 
watched  her  face.  Round  her  neck  a  little  silver 
image  hung  by  a  silken  thread  ;  Indian  work  ;  he 
scarcely  noticed  it.  The  corners  of  her  mouth  were 
pinched  and  firm.  The  nostrils,  still  distended  a 
little,  showed  signs  by  their  tremor  of  recent 
violent  passion.  The  eyelids  hardly  quivered 
perceptibly.      The   pupils   were   dilated    and    very 

brilliant. 

What  made  the  eyelids  keep  unclosed?  The 
young  doctor  examined  them  narrowly.  Defective 
nourishment,  or  some  accidental  lesion  of  the  nerve 
supplied    to    the  elevator    muscle.      From    what 


54 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


cause?     .     .    .     Great    heaven!    how   he   started! 
.     .     .     Close  to   the   corner  of  either   temple   his 
quick  eye  detected  at  once  a  tiny  scar— a  very  tiny 
scar— a  long-healed  cicatrix,  almost  invisible.    Those 
two  small  marks  must  have  been  produced  when 
Olga  herself  was  quite  a  baby.      The  line  remained, 
scored  deep  in  the  skin,  exactly  like  the  scar  of  vac- 
cination.   They  were  not  accidental :  that  much  was 
certain.     No  accident  on  earth  could  possibly  have 
severed  both  nerves  alike  on  either  side  with  such 
admirable  dexterity.    They  had  been  cut  on  purpose  ; 
and  not  with  a  knife  either.      Alan  Tennant's  quick, 
experienced  senses  recognized  in  a  second  the  dis- 
tinctive broad-cut  scar  of  a  piece  of  glass  or  a  stone 
implement.       Steel   and   the  metals   generally   cut 
deeper  and  clearer,  with  a  fainter  cicatrix. 

Precisely  the   same  scars,    and   in   precisely  the 

same  spot,  as  in  the  case  of  his  one  Thug  patient ! 

How  very  strange,  how  more  than  strange,  that 

Olga  Trevelyan  too,  like  the  Thug  himself,  should 

have  come  from  India  ! 

However,  this  was  no  time  for  idle  speculation. 
Olga  was  ill.  Olga  was  in  danger.  Too  hasty 
an  awakening  from  the  somnambulist  state  had 
been  followed,  as  usual,  by  collapse  and  possible 
utter  prostiation.     Unless  restoratives  were  applied 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


55 


at  once,  the  action  of  the  heart  might   cease  alto- 
gether. 

"You  ought  not  to  have  waked  her,"  he  said,  gen- 
tly, to  Norah.  "  In  future  take  care,  when  you  see 
her  Hke  that,  you  never  wake  her  ;  or  at  least,  only 
very  gradually,  if  absolutely  indispensable.  The 
sudden  recall  to  intermittent  consciousness  migh!: 
easily  prove  fatal.  Brandy  at  once,  please  ;  brandy 
and  sal- volatile." 

They  brought  them  in  haste,  and  Alan  poured  a 
glassful  quickly  down  the  poor  girl's  throat.  After 
a  little  while  she  revived  somewhat,  and  feebly  held 
up  the  faded  flowers. 

**0h,  Norah  1  "  she  murmured,  half  below  her 
breath,  her  eyes  meanwhile  coming  back  to  earth 
with  a  gradual  return  from  the  abysses  of  infinity  ; 
''I've  had  such  a  terrible,  terrible  dream.  .  .  . 
A  ghastly  dream  !  ...  but  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know  what  on  earth  it  was  about.  ...  I  was 
laughing,  laughing,  laughing  so  hard.  ...  I 
can't  remember   most  of  my  dream,  but  just   the 

end.        I    thought "    and    she    looked    at    the 

flowers    dreamily;    *' I   thought   I   saw   Mr.    Alan 

Tennant." 

Alan's  heart  leaped  up  in  his  breast.     It  was  too 
terrible    ...     or  too  delightful.     Had  she  really 


56 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


seen  him  with  her  staring;  wide  eyes  ?  Then  if  so, 
she  must  have  seen,  too,  that  awful  episode.  Or 
had  she  merely  been  dreaming  a  maiden's  dream 
about  him  ?  Then  if  so,  at  that  his  very  heart  within 
him  was  reverently  silent. 

He  dropped  the  hand  whose  pulse  he  was  slowly 
counting,  and  glided  from  the  room,  unseen  by 
Olga.  He  could  never  let  her  know  he  had  possibly 
surprised  even  so  much  (if  anything)  of  her  heart's 
vague  imaginings.  It  would  be  cruel  and  unfair 
to  her— a  mean  advantage.  He  beckoned  Norah 
and  Mrs.  Tristram  silently  from  the  room.  They 
left  Olga  for  the  minute  in  charge  of  the  servants. 

"I'll  go  below  till  Dr.  Hazleby  comes,"  he  said, 
"in  case  I  should  be  needed.  Meanwhile,  go  on 
giving  her  the  brandy  frequently.  But  don't  let  her 
know  I  've  seen  her  at  all.  Poor  child !  it  might 
make  her  feel  awkward  with  me  afterward." 

Norah  smiled  a  knowing  little  smile.  "  Very 
well,"  she  said,  with  a  meaning  look.  "We  can 
keep  our  own  counsel,  you  may  be  sure,  Mr.  Ten- 
nant.  .  .  .  But  how  strange  you  should  happen 
to  be  so  near  at  hand  just  at  the  very  moment  when 
dear  Olga  wanted  you  !  Quite  in  the  Romeo  and 
Juliet  style,  you  know.  A  serenade  by  midnight— 
without   the   music.      It  strikes  me,    Mr.  Tennant, 


I: 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


57 


you   must  have  been    taking   a  moonlight    stroll 
very  late  right  under  Olga's   window   too,   lor  a 

wonder  !  "  ^^ 

Alan  drew  himself  up  shortly.     "  I  was  out,     he 
said    -  watching  the  lifeboat,  which  had  just  put  off 
to  assist  a  wreck.     The  wreck  went  down  exactly 
opposite  your  aunt's  windows.     It  was  a  terrible 
sight,  indeed,  Miss  Bickersteth ;  the  most  terrible, 
save 'one,  I  ever  beheld  in  all  my  life.   .  .  .     Miss 
Trevelyan  is  in  a  very  excited  and  nervous  condi- 
tion.    She  's  a  voung  lady  whose  nerves  should  not 
be  overwrought.     If  possible,  keep  the  facts  about 
the  wreck  from  her.     In  her  present  state,  I  'm  afraid 
they  might  do  her  serious  injury." 

"  He's  very  much  in  love,"  Norah  whispered  to 
her  aunt  as  they  went  back  to  the  sick-room  again. 
-  He  doesn't  like  to  be  teased  about  her.  When  a 
man  doesn't  like  to  be  teased  about  a  pretty  girl, 
you  may  be  fairly  sure  there  's  something  serious 
in  it. 

Alan  slipped  down  to  the  dimly-lighted  drawing- 
room,  and  waiting  there  patiently  till  Dr.  Hazleby 
arrived,  briefly  explained  what  he  had  seen  and 
heard,  and  waited  for  his  final  verdict.  In  a  few 
minutes  Dr.   Hazleby  came  down  again,   with  his 


; 


58 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


heavy  tread  resounding  on  the  staircase,  and  reported 
the  patient  as  distinctly  better. 

**  She  doesn't  know  you've  seen  her,  I  gather," 
he  said  brusquely. 

**No,"  Alan  aswered  with  some  hesitation.  *<I 
hope  you  didn't  mention  it  ? " 

"I  didn't,"  the  country  doctor  replied,  taking  up 
his  hat.  "And  as  I  was  walking  down  the  stairs  I 
heard  her  say  to  Mrs.  Tristram— admirable  woman, 
Mrs.  Tristram—'  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  mention 
a  word  of  all  this  to  Mr.  Tennant'  So  you  see,  my 
dear  sir,  you  mustn't  be  supposed  to  know  anything 
about  it.  Don't  tell  the  young  lady  you  saw  her  at 
all.  She's  a  poor,  nervous,  weak-minded  crea- 
ture !  " 

There  's  nothing  on  earth  more  exasperating  to 
a  well-balanced  masculine  mind  than  the  common- 
place way  in  which  other  people  discuss  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  admirable  girl  you  yourself  are 
profoundly  in  love  with!  They  positively  talk 
about  her  for  all  the  world  just  the  same  as  if  she 
were  any  other  fellow's  ordinary  sweetheart  I 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


59 


CHAPTER   IV. 


DREAM  FACES. 

It  may  be  accepted  as  a  general  rule  in  life  that 
everything    always  looks   very   different   the   next 
morning.     As  Alan  Tennant  sat  by  himself  at  his 
ten  o'clock  breakfast  in  the  comfortable  coffee-room 
of  the  Royal  Alexandra  (formerly   the   old  White 
Lion)  he  reflected  with  his  own  mind  that  after  all 
he  too,  as  well  as  his  patient,  had  been  in  a  horri- 
bly overwrought   condition  the   previous   evening. 
Gaboriau,  and  brandy  and  soda,  and  three  cigars, 
and  the  small  hours  of  the  night,  and  a  violent  storm, 
all  piled  one  on  top  of  the  other,   had  evidently 
combined  to  make  him  that  evening  most  absurdly 
and  stupidly  morbid  and   hysterical.      But   in  his 
sober  moments,  a  man  of  science  ought  not  to  give 
way  to  such  weak  romanticism.     After  all,   what 
did  the  evening's  horrors  really  amount  to  ?     There 
had  been  a  wreck  ;  and  wrecks,  at  least,  are  unhap- 
pily common  objects  of  the  seashore  in  this  favored 
country.     Then,  in  addition,  Miss  Trcvelyan  had 


.  H" 


6o 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


had  a  slight  turn  of  somnambulism.  A  turn  of  som- 
nambulism, even  if  interfered  with,  is  not  a  very 
serious  or  mysterious  affair.     Finally,  as  to  his  ideas 

about  Miss  Trevelyan  herself,  why 

But  no.  That  is  a  point  on  which  even  the  man 
of  science  (especially  at  twenty-nine  years  of  age) 
is  by  common  consent  allowed  to  be  romantic. 
Alan  Tennant  said  it  outright  to  himself  once  more 
by  broad  daylight.  He  was  in  love  with  Olga 
Trevelyan. 

All  through  his  breakfast  he  was  longing  to  know 
how  she  had  borne  last  evening's  shock.     Had  she 
really  seen  the  episode  of  the  wreck,  and  tortured  it 
somehow   into   something  utterly  different   in    her 
dreaming  consciousness?     Would  she  vaguely  re- 
member it  now  she   had   come   to  herself  again.? 
Would  somebody  incautiously  blurt  out  all  about  it, 
and  so  recall  it  with  a  terrible  rush  to  her  half-obliv- 
ious  memory  ?     He   hoped  not  !     He  trusted  not ! 
But  people  are  always  so  very  imprudent.     And  in 
a  little  place  like  Thorborough,  too,  a  wreck  would 
surely  be  the  talk  of  the  town  for  the  next  fortnight. 
He  wished  he  could  manage  to  get  her  well  out  of 
it  !     The  incident   was  one   that  might  haunt  and 
dog  a  sensitive  nature  like  hers  for  months  together  ! 
At  the  risk  of  being  thought  too  obtrusively  soli- 


.i^rssjs; 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


6i 


citous,  he  had  scribbled  off  a  hasty  pencil-note  early 
in  the  morning  to  Mrs.  Tristram  : 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  whatever  you  do,  try  to  keep  the  news  of 
the  wreck  from  her." 

Then,  remembering  himself,  with  a  "Pshaw"  and 
a  smile,  he  changed  the  last  word  carefully  into 
"  riss  Trevelyan,"  just  as  if  he  really  thought  there 
was  only  one  her  in  the  whole  universe  ! 

After  breakfast  he  lighted  his  cigar,— tobacco  was 
Alan  Tennant's  one  weakness,— and  strolled  round 
to    inquire    about-well,    about    Olga.      Why    not 
frankly,  in  his  own  mind,  say  Olga?     When  a  man 
is  just  beginning  to  fall  in  love,  he  feels  himself 
quite  a  daring  person  if  he  ventures  to  call  the  ob- 
ject of  his    choice   by  her  Christian   name   in   his 
unspoken    thoughts  even.     He   could  only  inquire 
about  her  :  he   mustn't  ask   to   look   at   her.     She 
wasn't  his  patient,  but  Dr.  Hazleby's  ;  and  medical 
etiquette,  that  vast   organized  professional  trades- 
unionism,  effectually  prevented  him  from  asking  to 
see  her.     But  he  could  at  least  inquire.     No  harm 
in  inquiring.     Mrs.  Tristram  met  him  in  the  garden 
as  he   entered.     Olga  was   very  much  better  this 
morning,  thank  you  ;  in  fact,  apparently,  quite  her- 
self again.     Dear  child,  she  had  just  had  a  horrid  fit 


62 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


of  walking  in  her  sleep,  and  been  alarmed  and  fright 
ened  at  her  sudden  waking  ;  but  this  morning,  after 
a  night's  rest  and  a  good  breakfast,  she  seemed  as 
if  nothing  at  all  was  the  matter  with  her.     Mrs. 
Tristram  had  sent  her  out  with  the  girls  and  young 
men  to  stroll  along  the  beach— looking  for  amber. 
She    thought   it   would   take    their   minds    off  last 
nights    troubles.     Amber  was   always    thrown    up 
upon  the  beach  between  Thorborough  and  Yarford 
after  stormy  weather,     The  big  lump  with  the  two 
large  flies  in  it  on  the  drawing-room  whatnot  had 
been  picked  up  after  the  great  storm  last  November. 
The  girls  all  wanted  to  go  out  amber-hunting.     It 
was  so   amusing.     Would  Mr.   Tennant  walk  that 
way  and  meet  them  } 

A  vague  dread  smote  upon  Alan's  mind.  They 
were  sure  to  come  upon  some  planks  of  the  wreck 
then.  The  beach  was  certain  to  be  covered  with 
fragments.  If  so,  it  would  be  impossible  any  longer 
to  conceal  the  truth  from  Olga. 

He  hurried  off  eagerly  along  the  beach  towards 
Yarford,  walking  on  the  narrow  strip  of  sand  for 
greater  expedition,  and  scanning  the  shore  for  any 
indication  of  Mrs.  Tristram's  party. 

Half  a  mile  from  Yarford  Gap,  he  saw  them  in 
front  of  him,  all  closely  intent,  upon  the  edge  of  the 


Kalef^'s  Shrine. 


63 


beach  at  the  pohit  where  the  wet  and  matted  sea- 
weed had  been  tossed  and  left  by  the  storm  in  its 

frenzy. 

As  he  came  up,  Norah  bowed  to  him  with  an  arch 
little  smile,  as  who  should  say,  "I  know  your  se- 
cret." Olga,  prettier  than  ever  in  her  blushes  and 
her  morning  print,  gave  him  her  hand  with  a  dainty 
K;;5erve  that  thrilled  straight  to  the  young  man's 
heart  from  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  She  was  looking 
perfectly  well  and  even  rosy  ;  and  she  held  out  a 
small  round  lump  of  rough  amber  with  a  smile  of 
triumph,  saying  as  she  did  so,  "You  see,  Mr.  Ten- 
nant,  I'm  the  only  one,  so  far,  whom  the  gods  have 

fav^^ed."  * 

What  was  there  about  that  pretty  smile  that  struck 
a  cold  chill  for  a  second  to  Alan's  heart  ?  He  hardly 
even  knew  himself :  and  yet,  in  some  vague  back- 
chamber  of  consciousness,  he  remembered  to  have 
seen  it  before— and  shuddered.  It  was  a  smile  of 
triumph— innocent  triumph  ;  but  it  smote  him  hard 
with  an  awful  sense  of  imperfect  recognition. 

They  walked   along,  homeward  now,   and  Alan 

and  Olga  led  the  way  :  the  rest,  with  little  smiles 

and  nods  of  wise  observation,  allowing  them  to  head 

the  tiny  procession. 

Olga  talked  charm.ingly  and  prettily.     She  really 


11 


64 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


m 


■ft 


I      ' 


was  the  very  sweetest  girl  Alan  Tennant  had  evei 
come  across.  Her  mood  that  morning  was  a  tritie 
more  girlish  and  less  earnest  than  usual  :  she  watched 
the  big  waves  still  tumbling  on  the  beach  with  nai/- 
delight,  and  seemed  somehow  happier  and  more 
thoroughly  at  home  than  Alan  had  ever  yet  seen 
her. 

"All  the  fishermen  got  back  quite  safe  at  last,  you 
know,"  she  said  with  a  light  smile,  as  she  gazed  at 
the  huge  breakers  curling  on  the  foreshore;  -so 
one  can  admire  the  high  sea  with  a  clear  conscience 
now.  I  love  to  watch  ft  foaming  like  that,  when 
I  'm  perfectly  sure  nobody  s  in  any  danger  from 
it." 

"It  is  beautiful,"  Alan  said,  hurrying  her  on  none 
the  less.  -  Very  beautiful.  Just  like  a  bit  of  Henry 
Moore.  How  exquisite  the  shimmer  on  their  great 
crests  as  they  curve  and  flash  over  on  to  the  bar- 
rier of  shingle  !     Do  you  paint.  Miss  Trevelyan  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  I'm  simply  just  wild  about  painting. 
I  paint  continually.  Not  sea,  though,  of  course  : 
sea  is  only  for  the  great  artists.  Flowers,  and  cot- 
tages, and  rustic  children,  and  that  sort  of  thing : 
the  regular  amateur  subjects,  you  know." 

"The  fresh  seaweed  looks  lovely  in  the  sun,  too, 
doesn't  it  ?  "    Alan  went  on,  carelessly,  as  they  ap'- 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


65 


proached  a  great  tang^led  mass  near  the  high-water 
line.  "Such  delicate  tints  of  brown  and  yellow, 
glistening  wet.  There's  nothing  else  in  all  nature 
like  them." 

"Nothing,"  Olga  answered,  turning  over  the  mat- 
ted fronds  lightly  with  her  parasol.  "Why,  Mr. 
Tennant,  what  on  earth  's  that  ?  Just  look  :  a  wo- 
man's dress  among  the  new  seaweed  !  " 

Before  Alan  could  utter  a  word  of  warning,  or 
divert  her  attention  by  some  petty  stratagem,  she 
had  turned  up  the  mass  that  lay  above  the  dress, 
and  stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  with  eyes  of  horror 
wildly  staring  at  the  ghastly  object  that  now  fronted 
her  on  the  foreshore. 

A  faint  cry  burst  from  her  lips.  Then  in  a  mo- 
ment she   was  suddenly  and  ominously  silent. 

The  thing  that  gazed  upon  her  awfully  from  the 
sands  was  a  woman's  face  :  a  woman's  face,  battered 
and  distorted,  livid  with  long  tossing  and  tumbling 
on  the  shore,  bronzed  with  the  sun,  but  now  pale 
in  death,  and  terribly  ghastly.  The  body  was  lashed 
to  a  broken  spar— the  tiller  of  the  coal  vessel  that 
went  down  in  the  storm  before  Alan  Tennant's  eyes 
the  previous  evening. 

In  his  tender  anxiety,  the  young  man  took  her 
unconsciously  by  the   arm.,   and  tried  to   lead   her 


66 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


1^ 


away  perforce  from  the  sickening  sight.  But  Olga 
could  noi  be  moved  or  distracted.  She  gazed  with 
one  long  fixed  stare  at  the  face,  mutilated  and  hor- 
rible, but  still  perfectly  recognizable.  Its  eyes  lay 
open,  staring  back  at  her  own  ;  staring  through  them, 
as  it  were,  into  dim  infinity. 

"Miss  Trevelyan,"  Alan  cried  with  a  tone  of 
authority,  "you  must  come  away  :  you  must  come 
home  immediately.  This  is  no  fit  sight  for  such  as 
you,  Leave  us  men  to  do  all  that  is  necessary.  A 
wreck  took  place  last  night  off  the  coast  here  at 
Thorborough,  and  this  poor  creature  is  one  of  the 
victims.  We  did  not  wish  you  to  know  anything 
about  it  :  but  now  that  you  know,  you  must  go 
home  at  once :  you  mustn't  terrify  yourself  by 
looking  at  it  any  longer." 

"It  isn't  that/'  Olga  cried  convulsively,  finding 
tongue  at  last,  and  clutching  at  Norah,  who  had 
just  come  up,  and  was  gazing  awestruck  by  her 
side  at  the  pallid  corpse:  "it  isn't  that,  but,  oh, 
Norah  !  darling !  .  .  .  Mr.  Tennant !  Mr. 
Tennant,  I  know  the  face.  ...  I'm  sure  I 
know  it.  I've  seen  it  somewhere.  I  recollect  it 
well.  Oh,  so  vividly  :  with  eyes  staring  open  wide 
like  that,  and  arms  flung  up— so— piteously  to 
heaven.     .     .     .     Where   could  I  have  seen    her? 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


67 


Oh,    Norah,    Norah  !     For   heaven's  sake  tell  me, 
where  could  I  have  seen  her  ?  " 

And  then,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  recollection, 
burying  her  face  in  her  friend's  hands,  she  cried 
akr.d  in  a  voice  broken  with  horror,  "  It  was  last 

ni<rht !     In  my  dream,   Norah  !     And  I  thought 

Oh,  heaven,  I  don't  know  what  I  thought.  .  .  . 
But  I  never,  never  knew  the  poor  soul  was  drown- 
nig  ! 

Alan  Tennant  took  one  arm  tenderly.  "Lift  her 
up,"  he  said  to  Norah's  brother,  young  Harry  Bick- 
ersteth.  They  lifted  her  up  between  them  in  their 
arms,  and  carried  her,  a  listless,  half-fainting 
burden,  as  far  as  the  first  bench  on  the  walk  outside 
tlie  town.  There  Alan  laid  her  gently  down,  and 
sent  Harry  for  a  fly  to  the  Royal  Alexandra  to  drive 
her  back  to  Mrs.  Tristram's. 

"She  must  have  perfect  quiet."  he  said  in  a  tone 
of  command  to  Norah.  "This  double  shock  is  a 
terrible  strain  on  so  excitable  a  nature.  Take  her 
home  and  send  for  Dr.  Hazleby.  I  must  go  back 
now  and  see  after  the  body. " 


68 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  V. 


A  SOAP  BUBBLE. 

At   twenty-one,  nature   is   happily  very   elastic. 
Three    weeks  of  quiet    at    Mrs.    Hilary  Tristram's 
seemed  quite    to  restore  Olga's  shattered  nerves  : 
and  Norah  Bickersteth  was  certainly  the  very  best 
nurse  and  companion  in  the   world  at  such  a  time 
for  such  a  patient.      Norah's   gayety  was  beyond 
eclipse  :  and  her  lively  talk  and  innocent  merriment 
proved   better  for   Olga   than  a  thousand  doctors. 
Indeed,  one  doctor,  if  unmarried  and  handsome,  is 
often  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  a  full  thousand. 
And  Alan  Tennant,    looking  in    unprofessionally  as 
often  as   politeness    permitted,   noticed  with   plea- 
sure that  Olga's  temperament,  though  very  subtle, 
possessed  plastic  powers  of  recuperation.      "  What 
a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  be  young,"  he  thought  to 
himself.     At  twenty-nine,  a  man  considers  himself 
entitled  to  assume  a  middle-aged  air  and  tone  to- 
wards the  foibles  and   follies  of  early  adolescence. 
And  yet  twenty-nine  itself  is  not  very  old.     A  man 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


69 


of  twenty-nine  has  still  a  heart,  and  that  heart  is 
still  capable  at  times  of  a  not  wholly  disagreeable 
fluttering  palpitation. 

Mrs.   Hilary   Tristram  noticed,    too,    that  Alan's 
visits  were  unnecessarily  frequent.     Last  summer, 
she  said,  Mr.  Tennant  had  been  a  perfect   martyr 
to  the  royal  game  of  golf :  this  year,  the  links  were 
completely  neglected,  and  the  only  manly  amuse- 
ment for  which  he  seemed    to  retain  the  slightest 
taste  was   boating  on  the  river.     Now  boating,  as 
an  acute  intelligence  wiU  immediately  perceive,  is 
not  a  selfish  or  monopolist  pleasure  :   in  a  boat,  for 
example,  you   can  carry  passengers.     Alan's  boat, 
manned  as  a  rule  by  himself  and  Harry  Bickersteth, 
carried  three  or  four  inside  :  and  among  them  were 
generally  Olga  and  Norah,   marshalled  by  that  dis- 
creet and  amiable  chaperon,  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram. 
The  mysterious  game  of  golf  does  not  readily  lend 
itself  to  the  softer  pleasures  of  female  society,  or  the 
practice  of  the  innocent  art  of  flirting.     A  boat,   on 
the  contrary,  as  everybody  knows,  forms  one  of  the 
most  harmless,  even  if  necessarily  space-restricted, 
meeting-places  of  the  young,   the  gay,  the   giddy, 
and   the    thoughtless.      That    perhaps— though    it 
is  always   rash   to    speculate   on    human   motives 
—was  the   main    reason    why  Alan  Tennant  had 


il\ 


70 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


desertea    golf    and    taken    instead   to   an    aquatic 
existence. 

Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  was  not  unaware  that  Alan 
Tennant  had  "formed  an  attachment"  (such  is,  I 
believe,  the  correct  phrase  for  these  earlier  stages) 
towards  Olga  Trcvelyan.  On  that  point,  Mrs. 
Tristram  wisely  reserved  judgment  :  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  assumed  the  attitude  of  a  benevolent 
neutral.  She  would  have  wished,  indeed,  it  had 
been  dear  Norah  :  Mr.  Tennant  was  such  ap  ex- 
cellent, well-principled  young  man  :  but  dear  Norah 
was  still  very  ycang,  and  a  niece  of  IMrs.  Hilary 
Tristram's  need  never  fear  the  lack  of  fitting  mat- 
rimonial opportunities  in  London  society.  One 
doubtful  question  alone  remained  —  would  Sir 
Everard  Trevelyan,  that  stern  civil  servant,  away 
over  in  Bhootan  or  whatever  they  called  it,  consider 
Mrs.  Tristram  had  done  right  in  allowing  his 
daughter  to  contract  an  affection  (correct  phrase 
again)  for  the  young  oculist  ? 

Of  course,  Mr.  Tennant  was  a  very  distinguished 
coming  man —  extraordinarily  distinguished  for  his 
age  and  profession— and  sure  to  rise,  and  to  be 
knighted  and  so  forth,  and  really  a  very  excellent 
catch— in  these  hard  times,  you  know— for  anybody 
below  the  rank  of  an  earl's  daughter.     For  it  must 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


71 


at  once  be  admitted,   to  put  it  bluntly,  that  a  gen- 
eral   tightness  'prevails    in    the   marriage    market. 
Husbands  are  not  so  abundant  as  they  used  to  be 
a  few  years  since,  and  when  found,   they  are  apt, 
hke  all   other  commodities  when  the  demand   ex- 
ceeds the  supply,  to  put  a  fancy  price  upon  them- 
selves.    They  give   themselves  airs,    in  short,   and 
think    hardly    anybody    good    enough    for    them. 
Still,  your  Indian  magnate  has  often  such  an  exag- 
gerated idea  of  his  own  mightiness,  that  Mrs.  Tris- 
tram scarcely  knew  whether  Sir  Everard  would  ap- 
prove of  his  daughter's  marriage  with  a  mere  ocu- 
list—a common  surgeon,   you    observe,    not   even 
physician  !     So  she  prudently  abstained  from  overt 
recognition  of  this  little  affair,  for  good  or  for  evil. 
It  was  not  her  fault,  of  course,  if  Mr.  Ten  lant  and 
dear   Olga   privately  formed  a  mutual  attachment 
for  one  another.     She,  at  any  rate,  had  done  nothing 
in  any  way  to  throw  the  young  people  together  or 
to  promote  an  engagement. 

And  yet,  need  it  be  said  that  in  her  heart  of  hearts 
(so  profound  is  the  love  of  match-making  among 
women)  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  would  have  been 
vastly  disappointed  if  Alan  Tcnnant  had  not  pro- 
posed to  Olga  Trevelyan,  or,  having  proposed,  had 
been  rejected  by  her  ? 


72 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


1^(1 


!■■: 


At  the  end  of  three  weeks,  Sir  Donald  and  Lady 
Mackinnon  gave  a  picnic. 

Lady  Mackinnon's  picnics  were  grandiose  and 
Anglo-Indian.     Sir  Donald,  like  a  canny  Scot  that 
he  was,  had  married   money.      This  money,  origi- 
nally accumulated  by  his  respected  father-in-law  in 
the  engrossing  pursuit  of  the  nimble   quotation  (as 
quotation    is  understood  in  Capel  Court),    enabled 
him  to  rent  the  Manor  House  at  Thorborough,  and 
support  the  dignity  of  a  K.  C.  S.  L  with  a  becoming 
degree  of  social  munificciice.     The  picnics   attested 
and   enforced   that   dignity.      Sir    Donald's   steam 
yacht  made  its  way  solemnly  up  the  river  Thorc  to 
a   convenient  point,   laden    with  as    many   young 
men  and  maidens  as  it  could  conveniently  hold  ; 
and  there,  standing  aside  from  the  main  channel, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  low  sandstone  cliff  at  Pon- 
ton,   anchored    seriously,   with    many  premonitory 
puffs  and    snorts,   for  the   discussion  of  luncheon. 
Everything  was  done  decently  and  in  order.      The 
champagne    was    unexceptionably    iced,    and    the 
tablecloth   was  spread  on  deck   on  an    improvised 
table  of  polished  boards  and  mock-rustic  trestles. 
The  lobster  blushed  ingenuous  in  the  silver  dishes, 
and  the  salad  smiled  serenely  complacent  in  a  deli- 
cate bowl  of  Persian  pottery.     In  short,  the  picnic 


I 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


73 


was  reduced  as  nearly  to  the  level  of  a  civilized  din- 
ner party  as  v^^as  possible  under  the  circumstances 
of  river  yachting:  and  stewards  and  footmen  did 
their  level  best  to  get  rid  of  that  delicious  primitive 
simplicity  which  is  the  very  breath  of  life  and  rai- 
son  dttre  of  the  genuine  unsophisticated   natural 

picnic. 

Alan  and  Olga  were   among  the  bidden  to   this 
particular  feast,  as  well,  of  course,  as  the  remainder 
of  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram^  expansive  party.     Norah 
was  there,   looking  simply  enclmnting  in   a  sweet 
little  figured  mcrning  dress,  and  chatting  away  in 
her  childish  gayety  to  all  and  sundry  about  every 
thing  and  nothing      Alan  sto  id  talking  to  her  long 
by  the  gunwale,  peering  at  the  herons  fishing  in  the 
streams  left  by  the  ebbing  tide,  and  listening  to  her 
charmingly  ;i(Z?/' remarks  about  men  and  things  and 
the    universe   generally.     At  last,   a  more  favored 
youth  absorbed   her  conversation,  and  Alan,    stroll- 
ing forward,  came   suddenly   upon  Olga,  watching 
the  water  almost  alone  near  the  yacht's  bow. 

''What  a  delightful  little  person  your  friend  Miss 
Bickersteth   is,"   he  said    to  her,    with    a    smile. 
"  She  's  been  keeping  us  all  amused  over  yonder 
this  last  half-hour  with  her  funny  little  speeches."  ^ 
'*  Yes,  isn't  she  clever  !  "  Olga  cried  enthusiasti- 


74 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


If 


fi  ' 


cally.  -  And  so  pretty,  too.  And  so  deliglitfully 
natural.  And  such  a  sweet  girl,  Mr.  Tennant,  when 
you  really  get  to  know  her.  Not  a  bit  spoiled  by 
all  the  admiration  she  receives,  though  she  lives  so 
much  in  such  great  society  !  I'm  so  glad  you  ad- 
mire her  !  She  's  my  dearest  friend  in  all  the  world, 
Just  look  at  her  now  !  Did  you  ever  see  anybody 
so  perfectly  graceful  and  so  perfectly  beautiful  ? " 

"She's  certainly  very  pretty,"  Alan  answered, 
glancing  across  at  her  with  an  admiring  eye.' 
"  Pretty  rather  than  beautiful,  I  should  say.  Those 
mignonne  figures  are  extremely  charming,  but  not 
exactly  what  one  calls  beautiful." 

"Oh,  but  prettiness  after  all  is  more  than  beauty, 
Mr.  Tennant.  It  implies  something.  It 's  a  speak- 
ing  quality.  It  means  they  're  good  and  true  and 
sweet  and  lovable  as  well  as  merely  pleasing  objects 
for  the  eye  to  look  at." 

Alan  nodded.  "I'm  glad  you  are  so  enthusi- 
astic about  her,"  he  said  warmly.  He  hated  jeal- 
ousy. It's  a  great  point  in  a  girl'.:  favor  when 
she  can  be  frankly  enthusiastic  over  another  girls 
beauty. 

Olga  smiled  a  pretty  little  smile.  She  was  pleased 
that  Mr.  Tennant  admired  her  friend.  Dear  little 
Norah.      Nobody    on    earth-except    perhaps  Mr. 


'-. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


75 


Tennant — was  really  and  truly  quite  good  enough 
for  her. 

A  flower  on  an  islet  of  mud  in  the  side  stream 
attracted  for  a  passing  moment  Olga's  attention. 

"  How  curious  !  "  she  said,  pointing  to  it  with  her 
fan  ;  "  I  never  saw  it  before.  So  light  and  feathery. 
It 's  a  beautiful  thing.      I  should  love  to  paint  it." 

"  It's  peculiar  to  the  Eastern  counties,"  Alan  said, 
at  a  glance.  "I  know  it  well.  I've  botanized  it 
before  now.  I'll  try  to  get  you  a  bit  one  day  for 
painting." 

A  small  circumstance,  unnoted  at  the  time,  but 
not  uneventful.  These  small  circumstances  govern 
our  lives  for  us. 

Sir  Donald  came  up  as  they  stood  and  talked. 

"Insufferable  old  bore  !  "  Alan  said  to  himself 
with  scant  courtesy  to  his  host — pardonable  under 
the  circumstances.  "Can't  he  see  I  want  to  get  a 
few  words  by  myself  with  Miss  Trevelyan  ?  " 

She  was  "Miss  Trevelyan"  to  him  still  before 
others,  and  in  the  white  daytime:  "Olga"  only 
when  he  rehearsed  afresh  her  slightest  movements 
and  speeches  to  himself  at  night  in  his  own  cham- 
ber. 

"Fine  view,"  Sir  Donald  said,  pointing  with  a 
Inroad  sweep  of  liis  bronzed  hand  over  the  barren  flats 


i  f  I 

k       '■•■all) 


lil 


76 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


to  east  and   ./est  of  them.     "Beautiful  prospect  I 
Lovely  weather  ! " 

•'  It  ts  beautiful  in  its  wa>^  "  Alan  said,  distractedly, 
gazing  at  the  long  fl.nt  banks  of  unrelieved  mud  on 
either  hand,  shining  iridescent  in  tlie  broad  sunlight. 
"There's  a  vast  wealth  of  undiscovered  beauty  for 
the  true  artist  in  common  mud.     It  lights  up  won- 
derfully now  into  cloth  ofgold  and  Tyrian  purple.     I 
saw  Wyllie  make  an  exquisite  sketch  of  these  very 
flats  when  I  was  boating  here  last  summer.     Do  you 
think,  Miss  Trevelyan,  you  could  ever  paint  them? " 
"No,"   Olga   answered,  gazing  at  the  glistening 
expanse  dreamily.      "It  would  'ake  a  great  colorist 
to  do  it  full  justice.     You're  quite  right.  Sir  Donald. 
It's  really  beautiful." 

She  turned  her  face  up  to  him  as  she  spoke,  in  the 
full  glare  of  the  August  sun  ;  and  the  old  Indian, 
looking  gently  down  at  her,  smiled  with  delight  like 
a  child  for  a  moment  at  discovering  that  so  intelli- 
gent and  discerning  a  sense  had  been  read  by  them 
both  into  his  casual  observation.  It 's  so  delightful 
to  find  you've  made  a  brilliant  remark  without  even 
yourself  either  knowing  it  or  meaning  it  !  The  old 
man  was  pleased  and  gratified.  Next  instant,  some- 
thing unusual  in  Olga's  face  seemed  strangely  to 
attract  and  rivet  his  attention.     He  gazed  at  her 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


n 


closely,  almost  rudely,  till  Olga  drew  back  a  little 
abashed  from  his  wondering  stare.  Then  he  gave  a 
sudden  backward  jerk  of  his  head  muttered  some- 
thing inaudible  l^elow  his  mustache  to  himself,  and 
remained  silent  for  a  few  seconds. 

At  last  he  spoke:  ''You  were  born  in  adia,  I 
believe,  my  dear,"  he  said,  not  unkindly. 

But  Olga  evidently  resented  his  manner.  "I  was, 
Sir  Donald,"  she  answered  with  some  cu    ness. 

**H'm,"  he  rep  ated.  "Born  in  India  !  Curious  ! 
Curious  !  One  hardly  ui  lerstands  it.  Bu^  queer 
things  will  turn  up  sometimes.  Queer  '^^ace,  India, 
Queer  events  often  happen  there.  I  knev\  }  our  father, 
when  I  was  in  the  service,  my  dear.  Very  odd  thing 
happened  to  me  once,  in  a  district  where  your  father 
was  then  stationed  " 

"Indeed!"  Olga  said  with  quiet  dignity.  She 
did  not  seem  anxious  to  pursue  the  subject. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Tennant,"  Sir  Donald  wem  op  turn- 
ing round  to  the  young  doctor  in  his  auAiety  for  a 
listener.  ' '  It  must  have  been  when  this  young  lady 
here  was  in  th  nursery,  I  suppose  ;  T  came  across 
one  of  the  last  remnants  of  that  abominable  Thug- 
gee." 

"I  thought  it  was  all  put  an  end  to  long  ago," 
Alan  said  with  a  suppressed  yawn. 


idt 


I'ln 


if; 

m 


78  Kalee's  Shrine. 

"Put  an  end  to?     Not  a  bit  of  it!"  Sir  Donald 
responded.       "It  lived  on   spasmodically  till  very 
lately.     Why,    in    the   IJenjral   famine   of  '66,  \u    a 
temple  of  Kalee,  only   150  miles  np  country  from 
Calcutta,  we  found  a  boy  vvitli   his  throat  cut;  tiie 
eyes   starln<,r   vvide   open  ;  and  tho   clotted    tongue 
thrust  out  between  the  teeth  :— a  very  horrible  sight, 
I  promise  you.     And  in   your  fathers   district,  my 
dear,  in  your  father's  district,  when  you  were  a  baby 
almost,  I  came  upon  one  very  serious  case  of  Thug- 
gee.    I  had  sat  on  the  Thuggee  commission,  you 
know— helped    to    stamp    tlie    wliole    thing    out— 
and  so,  of  course,  I  knew  all  about  it.      Horrid  prac- 
tice that  of  the  Thugs.     They  used  to  catch  wayfar- 
ing victims,  entice  them  to  dine  and  then  to  sleep, 
—drugged,  no  doubt,— strangle  them  with  a  hand- 
kerchief as  they  slept  on  the  ground,  and  offer  up 
their  blood  to  their  goddess  Kalee.     But  we  stamped 
it  out,  stamped  it  out  at  last,  sir,  entirely.      Benefi- 
cent rule   of  the  British  Government  stamped  out 
Suttee,  stamped  out  infanticide,  stamped  out  Thug- 
gee, stamped  out  everything." 

"Except  famine,"  Alan  said,  smiling.  He  was 
anxious  now  to  divert  the  conversation  ;  for  he  could 
see  that  Olga,  in  spite  of  an  affected  air  of  nonchal- 
ance, was  eagerly  drinking  in  the  whole  conversa- 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


79 


tion,  and  he  dreaded  the  effect  upon  her  nervous 
constitution  of  so  exciting  a  ruhject.  He  took,  as 
he  fancied,  a  sort  of  paternal  interest  in  her. 

"Except famine,  to  be  sure,"  the  ohl  An<;lo-Indian 
answered   good-humorcdly,  refusing  to   follow    the 
red  rag  so  industriously  trailed  across  the  track  of 
conversation.     "  Of  course,  we  can't  expect  to  put 
down  famine.     We  're  not  answerable  if  the  monsoon 
doesn't  burst  at  the  time  it  ought  to  do.     Well,  as  T 
was  telling  you,  I  came  across  the  last  relic  of  Thug- 
gee in  the  very  district  where  this  young  lady — at 
the  age  of  four,  I  suppose — was  then   residing.      In 
the  midst  of  a  jungle,  a  dense  jungle,  as  impassable 
as  a  cactus  thicket,   we  found  a  httle  dirty  squalid 
temple — Thugs,    if   you    please — all    covered    with 
blood,    after   their   nasty    fashion  :  and  a  lean    old 
wretch  of  a  fakir  inside,  squatting  on  his  haunches, 
huddled    in    his    rags,    and    actually    taken    in    the 
very  act   of  cutting  up  a  dead  body.     I   give  you 
my   word   of  honor  for   it,   my   dear   young   lady, 
with  a   flint  knife,  cutting  up  and  mutilating  a  dead 

body." 

Sir  Donald  paused  and  wiped  his  glasses  signifi- 
cantly. Olga  shuddered  visibly  as  he  gazed  hard  at 
her. 

**  And  what  became  of  the  old  man  ?  "  she  asked. 


BMUmMliiiMV^ 


So 


hlili 


I 


Kalee's  Shri 


ne. 


looking  up  in  his  face 


oni 


more  with  a  strange 
interest. 

"Oh,   the  old   man!     Hanged  him,  of  course- 
hanged   him  :    hanged  him.     He  was  caught   red- 
handed,  and  we  naturally  hanged  him.     Girjee  was 
the  old   wretch's  name,    I  remember.     Died  hard 
with  the  rope  round  his  neck,  cursing  us  all  in  the 
name  of  Kalee,  and  predicting  all  sorts  of  hideous 
vengeance   in  the  future  against  us.      Gave   your 
father  quite  a  turn,  the  old  fellow  was  so  perfectly 
sure  Kalee  would  avenge  his  execution  on  Sir  Ever- 
ard  himself  and  h^s  children's  children." 

"It  was  very  dreadful,"  Olga  said  shuddering 
"My  dear,"  the  old  Indian   asked,   turning  sud- 
denly  upon  her,  "  do   you   happen   to   speak   any 
Hindastani?" 

"I  did  once,"  Olga  answered,  with  a  faint  blush, 
"but  I  ve  forgotten  it  all  ages  ago.  Only,  some' 
tmies  in  my  sleep,  a  little  of  it  seems  still  to  come 
back  faintly  to  me." 

He  looked  her  hard  in  the  face  with  a  critical 
gaze.  Olga  shrank  half  alarmed  from  his  inquiring- 
eyes.  ^ 

"H'm?"  he  said  again,  glancing  casually  at  her 
neck.  "What's  that  you've  got  there.?  Eh?  Tell 
me  !     A  piece  of  Indian  silver-work,  isn't  it  ?  " 


\i ; 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


8i 


"Yes,"  Olga  replied,  fingering  the  image  nerv- 
ously. "A  present  from  my  old  ayah  at  Moozuff- 
ernugger.  I  wear  it  always,  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know 
why.  I  've  grown  accustomed  to  it.  It's  a  sort  of 
sentiment." 

Just  then,  to  Alan's  unspeakable  relief,  Norah  ran 
up  to  take  her  friend  aft  and  consult  her  on  some 
small  point  being  eagerly  debated  by  a  little  crowd 
in  Sir  Donald's  cabin. 

"A  pretty  girl,"  Sir  Donald  muttered  confiden- 
tially to  Alan,  "but,  by  Jove,,  sir,  I  wouldn't  take 
ten  thousand  pounds  to  be  the  man  that  marries 
her  !  " 

"Perhaps  not,"  Alan  said  sLortly.  "  But  happily 
you're  not  called  upon  to  make  the  effort,  and  I 
don't  thiuK  she'll  have  much  difficulty  in  getting  a 
husband  in  due  time  without  offering  such  an  extra- 
vagant figure." 

"  Ah,  I  dare  say  the  fellow  who  marries  her 
wouldn't  find  her  out  all  at  once  :  but  he  'd  soon 
discover  what  was  the  matter  after  it  was  too  late, 
I'm  thinking,  Mr.  Tennant." 

"  Love  is  blind,"  Alan  said  oracularly. 

"Aye,  but  marriage  is  just  like  yourself, — a  great 

oculist,"  the  old  Anglo-Indian  retorted  laughing, 

Alan    answered    nothing.       He    merely   glanced 
6 


Iff 


^       '  i\ 

I   nil 

I 


I) 


&    f 


I 


82 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


after  Olga's  retreating  figure  with  some  little  trepi- 
dation. Everything  that  in  any  way  disturbed 
her  mind  was  now  to  him  a  subject  for  sincere 
regret. 

"  She  looks  to  me  too  beautiful  and  good  to  hnve 
anything  on  earth  but  goodness  within  her,"  he  said 
at  last,  half  thinking  aloud. 

Sir  Donald  started.  "Eh,"  he  said  :  "That's  the 
way  the  wind  blows,  is  it,  then,  Mr.  Tennant? 
Take  care  what  you  do.  You  don't  mean  to  say, 
young  man,  you're  going  yourself  to  marry  that 
wild  young  lassie  there,  are  you  !  " 

"If  I  were,"  Alan  answered  evasively  with  quiet 
dignity,  "it  is  probable  I  would  take  the  young  lady 
herself  before  anybody  else  into  my  confidence." 

He  walked  aft  to  join  Norah  and  Olga.  As  he 
reached  their  group,  Norah  was  just  remarking  some- 
thing in  a  slight  undertone  about  their  excellent 
host. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  's  a  dear  old  man  in  his  own  way," 
she  said  smilingly  ;  -but  like  all  Highlanders,  you 
know,  he's  terribly  superstitious." 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


83 


^fil 


■  I 


CHAPTER  VI. 


!  i;i| 


THE    HERO    EMERGES. 


After  lunch,  the  yacht  had  to  wait  two  hours  for 
the  tide  to  serve  before  she  could  make  her  way 
back  again  in  safety  down  the  shrunken  channel. 

The  river  Thore,  which  debouches  into  the  sea 
at  Thorborough  (good  word,  debouches  :  you  will 
find  it  in  the  guide-book),  is  one  of  those  sluggish 
tidal  East  Anglian  rivers  which  meander  along,  with 
infitiitc  twists  and  turns,  for  miles  together  through 
two  inimitable  boundary  plains  of  festering  mud- 
l)ank.  At  high  tide,  the  estuary  hlls  from  side  to 
side,  and  >x>ks  like  a  splendid  widespread  lake  : 
at  low  wat^,  H  father  resembles  a  vast  desert  of 
unutterable  slush,  with  a  narrow  thread  of  river 
trickling  slowly  down  a  hollow  in  its  centre.  Land- 
ing is  impossible  on  either  shore  :  deep  banks  of 
slime  and  ooze  intercept  your  passage  in  every 
direction.  You  can  only  keep  to  the  mid-channel, 
and  wait  till  you  come  to  the  rare  quays  where  an 
artificial  landing-place  has  been  duly  provided  by 
human  means  tor  your  special  convenience. 


Ml 


84 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


i;i 


i  i 


II 


The  afternoon  seemed  rather  tame  as  they  lay  at 
anchor  :  so  the  two  row-boats  of  the  yacht  were  put 
under  requisition,  and  most  of  the  party  went  off 
together,  rowed  by  the  attendants,  down  the  side 
streamlets.     The  big  gig,  manned  by  the  two  sailors, 
the  footmen,  and  some  of  the  young  men,  turned 
off  in  one  direction  to  put  up  the  herons  on   the 
great  mud  flats  :  in  the  smaller  boat,  Norah  and  her 
brother  went  with  a  couple  of  others  to  explore  the 
water  that  ran  down  a  tributary  channel  from  the 
neighboring  paper  mills.     Olga  complained  of  a  lit- 
tle headache— the  sun  and  the  water,  she  said  :  and 
she  stayed  behind.     Alan  (oddly  enough)  preferred 
to  stop  with  her.     In  a  little  while,  they  were  left 
to  themselves,  not  without  the  guilty  connivance, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  of  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram,  wdio  en- 
gaged Sir  Donald  and  Lady  Mackinnon  in  an  elderly 
gossip   all   by   themselves    beside    the   companion 
ladder. 

Olga  and  Alan  leaned  over  the  gunwale  and 
talked  their  own  talk  confidentially  alone,  leav- 
ing the  respected  seniors  to  their  private  re- 
sources. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  said,  with  a  confess- 
ing smile,  in  answer  to  some  casual  remark  of  Sir 
Donald's:   "I  know  I  am.     I  admit  the  impeach- 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


8; 


ment.  It 's  so  pleasant  to  make  young  people  happy. 
The  difficulty  is,  nowadays,  how  to  do  it.  There 
are  so  many  good  girls,  and  nice  girls,  and  pretty 
girls,  and  clever  girls,  all  over  England,  waiting  to 
be  married,  and  never  a  man  anywhere  to  marry 
them.  Where  are  the  men  ?  All  gone  abroad — in 
the  Army,  in  the  Navy,  in  India,  in  the  Colonies — 
wood-cutting  in  Canada,  sheep-farming  in  New  Zea- 
land, tea-planting  in  Assam,  sugar-boiling  in  Jamai- 
ca,— doing  anything  and  everything  on  earth  but 
what  they  ought  to  be — making  love  at  their  ease  to 
the  nice  girls  here  at  home  in  England.  And  the 
consequence  is,  the  nice  girls  are  left  alone  by  them- 
selves disconsolate.  I  really  wish  I  could  introduce 
a  Universal  British  Empire  Telephonic  Matrimonial 
Agency,  to  bring  the  young  people  everywhere  to- 
gether. But  as  I  can't,  I  'm  reduced  to  the  sad  neces- 
sity of  inviting  the  miserable  remnant  of  the  men  to 
meet  the  whole  host  of  nice  girls  at  dinners  and 
dances." 

"You're  a  benefactor  of  humanity,"  Lady  Mac- 
kinnon  answered  with  a  nod.  "Or  ought  the  right 
words  to  be  benefactress  of  femininity?  " 

**  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  the  young  couple  by  the 
gunwale  over  yonder,"  Sir  Donald  interrupted,  with 
a  mysterious  shake  of  his  sagacious  head.      "I'm 


I  k  'A 


1    's  a 

i 

An 
'I  If 

1 1 


!  f 


i^i 


t  4  'flIHHD 

*^^B^K 

-^HHH 

I 


86 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


) 


not  so  sure  of  your  benefaction  there,  do  you  know, 
Mrs.  Tristram." 

"Not  so  sure  of  Mr.  Tennant,  Sir  Donald  !  "  Mrs. 
Tristram  cried,  bridling  up  at  once  and  arching  her 
eyebrows  suddenly.  "Oh,  I  assure  you,  he 's  a 
most  charming  young  man,  and  so  well  principled 
too."  (Ladies  of  Mrs.  Tristram's  age,  it  may  be 
parenthetically  observed,  invariably  attach  a  pro- 
found importance  to  those  mystic  entities  known  as 
Principles.)  "  He  'd  be  a  most  eligible  husband  for 
any  good  girl  :  I  can't  allow  you  to  say  a  single 
word  against  my  ]\lr.  Tennant." 

'*It  wasn't  of  Jiim  I  was  thinking,  thank  you," 
Sir  Donald  muttered  dryly.  "  It  wasn't  of  him.  It 
was  of  the  young  lady." 

"  What }  Olga  !  My  dear  Sir  Donald,  you  must 
really  excuse  me,  but  Olga's  one  of  my  most  par- 
ticular favorites.  The  only  doubt  I  had  on  my 
mind  was  whether  my  Mr.  Tennant,  nice  as  he  is, 
was  quite  nice  enough  for  dear  Olga.  I  hesitated 
as  to  whether  I  ought  to  permit  the  young  people  to 
be  thrown  so  very  much  together." 

Sir  Donald  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly  :  that 
was  a  Celtic-Scotch  trick  which  his  Indian  experi- 
ences had  rather  strengthened  than  otherwise. 

"It's  none  of  my  business,  I'm  sure,   my  dear 


I' 


Jill  15 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


87 


It 


madam,"  he  said  shortly:  "but  you  know  I'm  a 
Scotchman,  and  we  Scotch  are  a  trifle  eerie.  I  have 
a  wee  bit  of  the  second  sight  about  me,  myself;  and 
1  don't  just  like  that  young  lady's  eyes.  I've  seen 
something  like  them  in  India.  .  .  No,  no  :  I  'm  not 
going  to  tell  you,  for  you'd  only  laugh  at  me  :  but 
I  know  this  much,  that  if  I  were  a  young  man  I  'd 
think  twice  before  I  put  my  fate,  for  better  for  worse, 
into  such  hands  as  Miss  Olga  Trevelyan's.  She  's  a 
friend  of  yours,  and  I  '11  say  naught  aganist  her  :  but 
if  second  sight  counts  for  anything  nowadays,  I  tell 
you  there 's  mischief  brewing  ahead  for  Mr.  Alan 
Tennant." 

]\Irs.  Hilary  Tristram  traced  a  circle  uneasily  with 
her  parasol  on  the  deck. 

"I've  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  born  south  of 
the  Tweed,  Sir  Donald,"  she  said  at  last,  after  an 
awkward  pause,  "so  the  second  sight  doesn't  great- 
ly trouble  me." 

But  it  did  trouble  her,  for  all  that.  Being  a  wo- 
man, and  therefore  impressionable,  the  mere  sug- 
gestion of  misfortune  affected  her  happiness.  She 
spent  a  sleepless  night  that  memorable  Wednesday, 
thinking  over  in  her  own  soul  by  herself  all  possible 
evils  that  could  ever  be  supposed  to  overshadow  in 
the  future  Olga  Trevelyan  and  Alan  Tennant.     Per- 


-''Mil 


i 


ss 


m 


Kalee's  Shrine, 


haps  Sir  Everard  M'ould  be  ve-y  angry,  and  then 
what  a  dreadful  fuss  she  would  gee  into  for  having 
encouraged  this  unfortunate  love  affair.  The  more 
she  thought  about  it,  the  more  nervous  she  grew. 
It 's  an  awful  thing  to  undertake  the  ro/e  of  earthly 
providence  to  two  aspiring  ana  grateful  young 
lives  ! 

Never  suggest  ill  omens  to  a  woman.  You  are 
raising  more  ghosts  than  all  your  philosophy  can 
ever  exorcise. 


Meanwhile,  Alan  and  Olga  stood  by  the  gunwale, 
looking  over  into  the  deep  clear  central  stream  that 
moved  unsuUied  between  its  muddy  banks,  like  a 
good  woman  in  this  wicked  world  of  ours.  The 
boat  in  which  Norah  and  her  party  had  taken 
their  departure  was  winding  its  way  slowly  up  a 
narrow  channel,  towards  the  low  bridge  some  two 
miles  beyond  the  paper  mill.  Norah  s  bright  crim- 
son parasol,  held  open  behind  her  head,  made  a 
capital  mark  to  track  their  course  by.  Even  when 
the  boat  itself  lay  half  hidden  by  the  tall  mud 
banks,  that  brilliant  patch  of  sunlit  color  sufficed  to 
reveal  at  once  their  exact  progress  up  the  tributary 
channel. 

*'  Take  my  glass,"  Alan  said,  handing  it  to  Olga. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


89 


"One  can  sec  the  whole  course  of  the  stream  with 
it  up  as  far  as  the  paper  mill,  spread  out  just  like  a 
map  from  the  deck  here  before  us.  How  it  twists 
and  turns  as  it  crawls  along  !  I  went  up  there  wild- 
fowl shooting,  1  remember,  last  summer." 

''I'm  sorry  you  shoot,"  Olga  said,  turning  her 
deep  brown  eyes  full  upon  him.  ' '  I  suppose  it  s 
very  girlish  and  all  that  of  me,  but  I  hate  bloodshed 
— even  an  animal's.  Members  of  a  great  humane 
profession  like  yours,  whose  very  mission  it  is  to 
alleviate  pain,  ought  surely  to  amuse  themselves 
with  something  nobler  and  better  than  going  wild- 
fowl shooting." 

"You  are  right,"  Alan  answered,  converted  in  a 
moment  from  the  error  of  his  ways  by  the  tender 
light  in  those  beautiful  eyes  of  hers.  "Forgive  the 
past.  In  future,  Miss  Trevelyan,  I  shall  never 
handle  a  gun  again," 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  a  few 
distinct  words  were  wafted  over  towards  them  from 
the  region  of  the  quarter-deck. 

"The  Hindus,"  Sir  Donald  was  saying  in  a  loud 
voice,  so  loud  that  it  broke  in  for  a  moment  on  the 
young  people's  colloquy,  "will  never  willingly 
injure  any  living  creature,  especially  cows,  bulls,  or 
oxen.     It 's  part  of  their  religion.     A  confoundedly 


90 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I 


queer  religion,  I  always  thought  it.  Odd  that  the 
people  who  won't  eat  beefsteak  or  tread  upon  a 
cockroach  should  have  invented  the  custom  of  burn- 
ing their  widows,  practised  infanticide,  and  winked 
at  the  abominable  atrocities  of  Thuggee  !  " 

"Sir  Donald  has  really  Thugs  on  the  brain, "Olga 
murmured  smiling.  "  I  Ve  never  yet  once  met  him 
that  he  hasn't  gone  back  over  and  over  again  to  that 
same  old  subject.  Where  have  they  got  to  now,  I 
wonder,  Mr.  Tennant.?  Can  you  see  Norah  any- 
where ? " 

**0h,  yes.  There's  Miss  Bickersteth's  parasol 
by  the  beacon  yonder.  I  've  been  watching  it 
all  the  way  along  the  stream  ever  since  they 
started." 

'Tm  so  glad,  Mr.  Tennant,"  Olga  said  with 
meaning.  "  She's  a  dear  little  soul,  and  she 's  well 
worth  watching." 

Alan  Tennant  felt  a  faint  blush  rise  to  his  cheek, 
but  he  said  nothing.  Clearly,  Olga  was  on  the 
wrong  tack  :  but  the  present  moment,  with  Lady 
Mackinnon's  eyeglass  fixed  stonily  upon  them,  was 
not  exactly  the  best  opportunity  for  a  candid  ex- 
planation. 

**  They 're  getting  to  the  bridge  now,"  he  said 
carelessly.      "It's   a   nasty  bridge,  that:  too   low 


m 


Kalee's  Shrine.  9: 

aln  v-r  a  boat  to  get  under.     The  .  .   .  thedick- 

boa  'v'ou  know — i  allu(i  merely  to  the  sins  of  the 
past  .)y  way  of  .^lus  iti'  :he  duck-boat  could 
jjst  manag-e  to  escape  ,  lut  1  don't  suppose  Miss 
Bickersteth's  craft  can  possibly  clear  it.  Lend  me 
theglass;  mo.  ent,  please.  Thanks.  .  .  .  Ah,  yes  : 
the  water's  somewhat  lower  than  usual  to-day. 
They  can  just  get  under.  .  .  .  Why,  now  they're 
stopping  half-way  throu'  ^\  the  bridge.  ]\Iiss  Bicker- 
steth's putting  out  a  mie,  I  fancy.  Excuse  me. 
Miss  Trevelyan,  if  I  trample  again  on  your  tenderest 
feelings,  but  I  really  think — yes,  1  m  quite  sure — 
she's  going  to  do  a  little  fishing." 

Olga  laughed.  "I'm  afraid  I 'm  not  quite  true 
there, "  she  said, '  *  to  ni)^  own  principles.  You  mustn't 
expect  consistency  in  a  woman.  I  confess  I  don't 
somehow  feel  as  if  fishing  was  really  quite  so  bad  as 
shooting.  I  wouldn't  fish  myself,  of  course,  because 
I  wouldn't  willingly  give  pain  to  any  living  creature  ; 
but  I  don't  feel  called  upon  to  be  angry  with  dear 
Norah  if  she  chooses  to  do  it.  For  one  thing,  the 
fish  don't  seem  quite  so  much  alive,  you  know,  as 
pheasants  and  partridges.  I  don't  think  they  can 
feel  anything  like  so  keenly.  And  then,  besides, 
one  doesn't  actually  shed  their  blood,  you  see  :  they 
only  choke  and  die,  I  suppose,  poor  creatures." 


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92 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


Once  more  Sir  Donald's  voice  broke  through  to 
where  they  sat. 

"Strangled  them  with  a  big  silk  handkerchief 
they  called  a  roomal,"he  said  impressively,  "and 
offered  thern  up  as  an  expiatory  sacrifice  to  their 
goddess  Kalee." 

"But  what's  become  ot  the  Thugs  themselves 
now?"  Mrs.  Tristram  ventured  languidly  to  ask 
with  a  faint  smile.  "They  can't  all  be  extinct,  of 
course.     They  must  be  doing  something  or  other." 

"Ah,  yes,"  Sir  Donald  replied,  with  a  long, 
sagacious  nod  of  his  head.  "Beneficent  action  of 
the  British  Government  stamped  out  the  Thugs, 
viewed  as  a  caste,  but  left  the  survivors.  They  're 
all  now  otherwise  engaged— as  professional  poi- 
soners !  " 

"Really,  one  may  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing,"  Alan  remarked,  half  beneath  his  breath,  in 
answer  to  Olga's  silent  smile  of  amusement.  "  Even 
the  Thugs,  blood-curdling  as  they  are,  pall  at  last 
upon  the  twentieth  repetition.  And  how  very  char- 
acteristic of  our  British  tinkering  !  We  stamp  out 
infanticide— and  substitute  a  famine  :  we  stamp  out 
the  Thugs— and  get  professional  poisoners!  . 
Will  you  take  the  glasses  again  ?  What's  that  upon 
the  stream  away  above  the  bridge  there  ?     A  ijight  of 


:!ill 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


93 


herons  ?  or  wild  ducks,  is  it  ?  Too  white  for  either, 
1  think  !  See,  see,  that  long  pale  band  upon  the 
face  of  the  stream  yonder.  It  seems  to  be  moving 
— moving  rapidly." 

"  It 's  water,"  Olga  answered,  scanning  it  closely 
with  the  glass.  "Foam  on  the  river.  A  sort  of 
bore  or  big  wave,  like  the  one  they  sometimes 
get  on  the  Severn.  Only  it  seems  to  go  the  op- 
posite way,  down  stream,  you  know,  instead  of  up- 
wards." 

"Give  me  the  glass,"  Alan  cried  in  haste.  "  Let 
me  see  what  it  is  !  ...  By  Jove,  I  thought  so  !  It 's 
the  water  coming  down — coming  down  like  mad. 
Oh,  what  shall  we  do  !  What  shall  we  do  for  them  ! 
They  've  opened  the  flood  gates  at  the  sluice  by  the 

paper  mill !  " 

"And  Norah  !  "  Olga  cried,  clasping  her  hands 
frantically.  "Do  they  see  it?  Do  they  know  it? 
Are  they  in  any  danger  ?  " 

"If  the  water  catches  them  there,  "Alan  answered 

at  once,  "it  '11  rise  to  the  level  of  the  bridge  above- 
it  always  does— I  know  it  of  old— and  they  '11  every 
one  of  them  be  drowned  to  a  certainty.  They  v/on't 
be  able  to  get  their  heads  above  water,  because  of 
the  bridge,  and  they'll  be  crushed  in,  as  it  were,  be- 
tween the  boat  and  the  timbers." 


94 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


i 


ri:. 


Olg..   started  back  in   an   agony  of  fear.      "Oh 
save  her,  save  her,  Mr.  Tennant,"she  cried  aloud 
in  her  terror. 

"Who .?  what .? "  Sir  Donald  exclaimed,  roused  by 
her  cry.  Then,  his  experienced  eye  taking  in  at  a 
glance  the  danger  of  the  situation,  as  Alan  pointed 
mutely  with  his  hand  to  the  low  bridge  and  the 
rushing  flood  above  it,  he  called  aloud  to  the  stoker 
below,  the  one  other  man  left  on  board  the  yacht, 
''Quick,  quick  !  The  boat  !  the  boat !  Down  with 
it  immediately.  We  must  put  out  this  moment  and 
warn  them  of  the  danger  !  " 

"There  isn't  another  boat  aboard  her,  sir,"  the 
stoker  answered  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  silently 
appreciating  the  difficulty  in  his  turn.  "They're 
both  out  with  the  young  gentlemen  and  ladies." 

"Shout !  Shout !  Wave  !  Call  to  them  !  Whistle  ! 
Attract  their  attention  !  "  Sir  Donald  cried  hastily. 

"There  's  ro  steam  on,"  the  stoker  answered; 
"  I  've  let  the  fire  down.     We  can't  whistle  !  " 

They  all  raised  their  voices  together  in  a  loud 
halloo.  Unhappily  the  wind  was  blowing  against 
them.  A  waving  of  hands  and  beckoning  of  hand- 
kerchiefs, long  repeated,  proved  equally  ineffectual. 
Norah,  sitting  at  her  ease  in  the  stern,  with  her 
parasol  still  needlessly  open,   and  the  low  bridge 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


95 


half  hiding  her  from  their  sight,  blocked  the  view 
of  all  the  others.  They  were  too  intent  upon  their 
fishing  to  look  behind  them.  It  seemed  as  though 
they  must  needs  be  swamped  without  hope  of  rescue 
by  the  onward  rush  of  the  approaching  waters,  and 
drowned  in  the  boat,  a  perfect  death-trap,  as  the 
projecting  timbers  must  infallibly  catch  it  and  hold 
it  tight  with  the  first  flood,  while  the  surging  waves 
rose  around  and  filled  it. 

"Thank  God,  there's  time  still,"  Sir  Donald  cried 
aloud,  the  perspiration  standing  in  great  co^  1  bsads 
upon  his  bronzed  forehead.  "Though  it 's  coming 
down  fast,  it  has  a  long  way,  a  very  long  way  yet  to 
go,  and  many  turns  to  make,  before  it  reaches  them. 
Perhaps  we  may  still  succeed  in  attracting  their  at- 
tention. Perhaps  they  '11  see  it  coming  themselves. 
How  does  the  river  twist  beyond  the  bridge,  Wil- 
liam ?  If  there  's  an  open  reach  ahead,  they  '11  notice 
the  wave,  and  get  well  away  before  it 's  down  upon 
them.  Below  the  bridge  they  may  get  upset,  but 
they  can  cling  for  dear  life  to  the  boat,  anyhow. 
Do  you  know  how  the  river  runs,  Tennant  ? " 

Alan  shook  his  head  ominously.  "There's  a 
sharp  turn,  and  high  mud-banks,  just  above  the 
bridge,"  he  answered  with  a  shudder.  "They  can't 
see  it  coming,  even  if  they  were  looking,  until  it 's 


<i  if 


1  if 


It 

I 'I 

I 


ll! 


96 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


1 


Close  upon  them  :  and  besides,  they're  not  looking: 
they  're  intent  upon  their  fishing." 

Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  burst  into  tears.  "Oh,  No- 
rah,  Norah!"  she  cried  piteously.  -Sir  Donald! 
Mr.  Tennant !     Save  her  !     Save  her  !  " 

"  There  s  only  one  way  !  "  Olga  cried,  trembling 
and  pale  as  death,  but  quite  firmly.     "Somebody 
must  swim  out  at  once  and  warn  them.     A  good 
swimmer  would  have  time  to  do  it.     Can  you  swim 
William  ? " 

"Not  a  stroke.  Miss,  worse  luck,  to  save  my  life 
even."  ^ 

Alan  Tennant  answered  nothing,  but  pulled  off 
his  boots  and  coat  in  silence.     He  loosened  his  col- 
lar  and  flung  it  on  the  deck.     Then  he  stepped  reso- 
lutely on  to  the  parapet  of  the  gunwale.      "  I'm  not 
an  expert,"  he  said,  simply;   "but    perhaps  I  can 
manage   it.     It  's  a  race  against  time,   that  's  all. 
There   may  be  just   margin    enough.     Anyhow,  a 
medical  man's  business  is  to  save  life  at  all  hazards." 
Olga  held  out  her  hand  for  a  second,  as  if  she 
would  check  him  :  then  drew  it  back  again  irreso- 
lutely to  her  side.      "Take  care  of  the  wave,"  she 
cried  in  trembling  accents;    "don't  let  it  swamp 
you.     But  save  Norah  !  save  Norah  !  " 
Alan  plunged  at  the  word  with  a  header  into  the 


I 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


97 


stream,  and   swam    with  ail  his  might  and   main 
across  the  main   channel   towards    the   little  river. 
Tide  had  turned  now,  and  that  was  in  his  favor. 
He  was  a  powerful  man,  though  not,  as  he  said,  an 
expert  swimmer;  and  swimming  just  then,  all  for 
haste,  as  if  for  dear  life,  with  one  arm  alternately 
held  above  the  water— the  best  way  for  speed— he 
stemmed  the  stream  with  the  flow  on  the  very  turn, 
and  made  rapid  way  with   his  vigorous  impulses 
through  the  deep  water.     The  eyes  of  the  watchers 
followed  him  with  eager  suspense.     It  was  an  awful 
moment.     The   bridge  and   boat   and   red   parasol 
stood   out   distinctly  in  the  middle  distance.     The 
white  wave,  with  its  sea  of  waters  behind,   came 
steadily  onward,  advancing  from  up-stream  towards 
those  unconscious  young  folks  in  the  light  pleasure 
boat.     And  in  front,  breasting  the  water  with  the 
mad  energy  of  despair,  Alan  Tennant's  head  and 
arms  showed  ever  and  anon  between  the  half-bury- 
ing mud-banks  of  the  lesser  river.     Would  he  reach 
them  in  time  ?— that  was  the  question.     Would  he 
get  near  enough  to  shout  aloud,  and  be  heard,   and 
warn    them?     Oh,   for   a    chance   of    raising    their 
voices  and  making  themselves  noticed  to  call  their 
attention  !     The  wave  was  advancing,  advancing, 

advancing !     He   would  never    reach    them  !     He 
17 


fm 


98 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


would  never  get  near  enough  !     It  was  hopeless  I 
hopeless  !     The  wave  was  gaining  on  them  ! 

The  wind  !  The  wind  !  That  cruel  wind ! 
They  could  hear  Norah's  soft  and  musical  laughter 
borne  to  their  ears  distinctly  by  the  breeze,  and 
yet  their  own  loud  cries,  wafted  the  opposite 
way,  were  utterly  unnoticed,  unheeded,  undreamt 
of! 

At  last  Olga  had  a  burst  of  inspiration. 

"The  gun  !  The  gun  !"  she  cried,  pointing  an 
eager  finger  to  the  little  brass  mortar  that  stood  by 
the  tiller. 

They  had  none  of  them  thought  of  it. 

Fortunately  it  was  loaded  for  the  customary  sa- 
lute. Quick  as  lightning,  the  stoker  had  brought  a 
live  coal  up  on  deck  from  the  smouldering  fur- 
nace, and  hastily,  tremulously,  touched  the  prim- 
ing :  Boom  !— the  sound  reverberated  along  the 
water.  Down  went  the  red  parasol  for  a  single 
moment,  and  the  four  young  people  in  the  boat 
beneath  the  bridge,  startled  by  the  report,  looked 
round  in  surprise  to  see  Alan's  hand  earnestly  beck- 
oning to  them,  and  his  arm  raised  in  solemn  warn- 
ing well  above  the  level  of  the  surrounding  water. 

He  was  almost  within  earshot  now,  and  gather- 
ing up  all  his  voice  for  a  supreme  effort,  he  cried 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


99 


aloud  in  one   wild  shout,    "Jump   out    on   to  the 
bridge,  Harry  !     Floodgates  opened !  " 

It  was  just  in  time.  The  three  lads,  taking  in  his 
meaning  with  the  rapidity  of  instinct,  pulled  the 
boat  out  without  touching  the  oars,  by  pushing  at 
the  timbers  overhead,  leaped  on  to  the  low  wooden 
roadway  of  the  bridge,  and  handed  out  Norah,  in 
trembling  haste,  on  to  the  place  of  safety.  Even 
as  they  did  so,  and  before  they  had  time  so  much 
as  to  secure  the  boat,  the  flood  burst  upon  them 
with  a  wild  sweep  from  round  the  corner,  raised  the 
water  in  the  channel  to  the  level  of  the  bridge,  and 
bore  down  the  skiff,  tossed  lightly  bottom  upward, 
on  to  the  foaming  summit  of  its  mad  forefront. 

Norah  was  safe  !  So  much  Olga  could  clearly 
see  from  her  post  on  deck  :  but  Alan  Tennant  ?  On 
what  an  errand  was  this  that  she  had  so  hastily  sent 
him  ?  The  fierce  flood  swept  madly  onward  still, 
gurgling  and  roaring  like  a  winter  torrent.  It  boiled 
and  seethed  and  careered  in  its  frenzy.  Could  he 
stem  its  force— he  who  was  no  expert  swimmer — 
or  would  it  drown  and  overwhelm  him  without 
chance  of  respite  ? 

The  high  mud-bank  on  either  side  hid  him  now 
from  their  view  in  the  narrow  channel.  They  could 
only  see  the  one  white  ridge  of  water  where  the 


f'JI 


100 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


t 

P 


I' 


pent-up  flood  rushed  on  rejoicing  on  its  mad  course 
seaward. 

Olga  stood  and  watched  in  breathless  suspense. 
Next  moment,  in  the  midst  of  the  great  white  wave, 
a  soHtary  black  object  rose  bobbing  for  a  second. 
She  saw  what  it  was  :  Alan  Tennant's  head.  In 
another  instant— oh,  agony  I  oh,  horror  I—the  white 
wave  swept  on  resistless,  and  the  black  object  in 
its  midst,  sinking  from  their  view,  was  no  longer 
visible. 

Olga  clasped  her  bloodless  hands  in  terrible  self- 
accusation.  "Drowned,  drowned!"  she  cried,  in 
a  voice  of  anguish  :  "Drowned  after  saving  them  ? 
And  it  was  I  who  sent  him  !  " 

They  strained  their  eyes  eagerly  to  watch  for  the 
reappearance  of  the  head  once  more,  as  the  white 
wave  emerged  at  last  from  the  muddy  banks  of  the 
minor  stream,  and  joined  with  a  burst  the  main 
current  of  the  Thore  in  the  central  channel.  But 
no  head  was  anywhere  to  be  seen  ;  and  what  was 
stranger  still,  no  boat  either.  Had  both  been 
sucked  under  by  the  eddying  flood,  and  would  they 
only  reappear  again  in  the  calm  water  a  hundred 
yards  or  so  lower  down,  where  the  Thore  broadened 
out  into  a  wide  estuary  ? 
As    Olga  strained  and   watched  and   wondered 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


to  I 


^ 


with  bated  breath,  a  sudden  cry  from  Sir  Donald 
made  her  turn  her  eyes  further  up  the  little  tribu- 
tary river,  where  the  old  Indian  was  pointing  his 
thin  forefinger.  With  an  involuntary  sigh  of  joy 
she  recognized  the  reason.  Alan  had  caught  the 
drifting  boat,  and  was  clinging  to  its  side,  and  push- 
ing it  up  stream  as  well  as  he  was  able  against  the 
battling  force  of  the  released  current ! 

In  a  minute  or  two  more,  as  the  first  rage  of  the 
flood  gradually  subsided,  he  had  righted  the  light 
boat,  and  was  seated  in  it,  and  paddling  his  way 
(for  the  oars  were  gone)  with  a  short  foot-rest  which 
had  luckily  stuck  in  its  rack  in  spite  of  the  capsizing. 
Stirring  episodes  occupy  small  space.  In  far  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  from  the  time  when  he 
jumped  overboard  off  the  yacht's  deck,  Alan  Ten- 
nant  had  reached  the  bridge,  and  was  standing  in 
safety  by  Norah's  side. 

Olga's  heart,  which  had  stood  still  within  her 
while  she  watched  ahd  waited,  bounded  now  with 
a  wild  tremor  of  delight.  They  were  saved,  saved  I 
Both  of  them  saved  !     Norah  and— and  Alan. 

In  that  moment  of  agony;  her  heart,  too  had  con- 
fessed its  own  secret  to  itself.  She  knew  she  loved 
him  I     She  was  certain  that  she  loved  him  1 


102 


Kalce's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


H 

!; 


HEROISM   DRY. 

A  HERO,  it  may  be  confidently  asserted,  is  no  hero 
at  all  in  wet  clothes.  On  the  contrary,  ne  is  a 
wretched,  dripping,  bedraggled  creature,  suggestive 
rather  of  the  need  for  immediate  charity  than  of  the 
praise  and  honor  due  to  his  tried  heroism.  Alan 
Tennant,  though  new  to  the  role  in  this  particular 
fashion  at  least  (for  every  doctor  is  after  all  by  pro- 
fession a  hero  in  his  own  way),  so  instinctively 
grasped  at  that  obvious  element  in  the  theatrical 
recognition  of  the  heroic  character,  that  he  ab- 
stained from  returning  to  the  yacht  as  he  stood,  and 
displaying  himself  before  Olga's  admiring  eyes  in 
his  wet,  torn,  and  muddy  garments.  This  is  as  it 
should  be.  On  the  stage,  indeed,  the  hero  who  has 
saved  a  beautiful  lady  from  imminent  drowning  ap- 
pears on  deck  immediately  afterwards  in  spotless 
white  shirt  and  blue  nankin  trousers,  and  hiS  his 
hand  warmly  grasped  by  the  lady's  friends,  or  is 
even  embraced  bodily  before  an  admiring  circle  by 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


103 


her  grateful   mother,    her  cousins,  and  her   aunts. 
But  tlien  tho  stage  hero  comes  up  from  the  great 
deep   dry   and   unliurt    (even  his   hair   is   not    put 
out  of  curl),  as  though  water  ran  off  him,  by  some 
occult  arrangement,  in  the  common  fashion  of  the 
domestic  duck.     But  in  real  life,   unfortunately,  the 
hero's  head  emerges  from  the  wave  distinctly  disar- 
ranged ;  his  collar  is  moist  limp,  and  uncomfortable, 
c4iid  his   clothes   cling  to   him  with  most  unpictu- 
resque   and  unromantic    tightness.     Alan   Tennant 
judged  it  best,   therefore,  to   leave  to  the  lads  the 
task  of  paddling  Norah  back  to  her  grateful  chape- 
ron :  while  he  himself,   dripping  wet,    coatless  and 
hatless,  ran  back  to  Thorborough  at  the  top  of  his 
speed  by  the  nearest  road  without  waiting  for  any 
theatrical  reception.     This  was  certainly  not  roman- 
tic heroism  :  but  it  was  warmer  and  safer  :  and  be- 
sides, what  man  cares  to  appear  before  the   maiden 
of  his  choice,  even  as  a  hero,  draped  from  head  to 
fool  ir.  damp  and  dingy  mud-bespattered  clothing? 
That   evening,   however,  at  half-past  seven,    the 
young    doctor  issued  forth  once   more  resplendent 
from  his  hotel,  in  black  coat  and  white  necktie,   by 
special  invitation  to  dine  at  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram's, 
in  his  new  character  as  Norah's  preserver.     A   hero 
in  evening  clothes,   now,— look  you— why,  that  of 


'"fl 


Ri  1 1 


!  ; 


I 


r 


lit 


104 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


course  is  quite  another  matter.  When  a  man  is  tall 
and  handsome  and  rejoices  in  the  possession  of  a 
black  mustache,  there  must  certainly  be  somthing 
very  wrong  about  him  somewhere  if  he  doesn't 
look,  on  due  occasion  given,  every  inch  a  hero, 
standing  up  by  the  fireplace,  in  a  swallow-tail  coat 
and  white  necktie. 

Olga  Trevelyan  thought  so  indeed  as  she  entered 
the  drawing-room  ea'-liest  of  the  party,  and  found 
Alan  already  there,  looking  none  the  worse  in  any 
way  for  his  afternoon's  adventure.  In  fact,  if  any- 
thing, he  looked  all  the  better :  for  every  man's 
appearance  is  much  improved  in  certain  circum- 
stances by  a  not  ungraceful  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing acquitted  himself  well  and  manfully  under 
trying  conditions. 

Olga  took  his  hand  tremulously.  He  saw  she  had 
been  crying  :  she  had  not  quite  succeeded  after 
many  efforts,  in  obliterating  the  traces  of  it  from 
her  swollen  eyelids.  She  said  nothing,  but  held  his 
hand  nervously  in  hers  for  a  moment  with  a  sudden 
access  of  mute  gratitude.  She  was  too  deeply 
moved  to  know  precisely  what  she  w^as  doing. 
Thinking  only  of  Norah's  safety  (and  his),  she  held 
it  long,  and  let  it  go  reluctantly. 

''Mr.  Tennant,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  trembling 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


105 


ii  ^ 


voice,  '*we  can  never,  never,  never  sufficiently 
Ihank  you.  You  have  given  us  back  our  darHng 
Norah.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  we  should  cer- 
tainly have  lost  her.  I  won't  try  to  tell  you  how 
much  I  admire  you  for  it.  It  was  splendidly  done 
—I  am  glad  in  my  heart  I  was  there  to  see  it." 

Alan  smiled  and  made  light  of  it,  of  course.     (It 
is  part  of  the  role  of  a  hero,  once  more,   you  know, 
always    to  make  light  of  the    danger   afterwards.) 
"Oh,  it  wasn't   really  a  long  swim,"  he  answered 
carelessly.       "The    only    real  difficulty  was  when 
that  nasty  wave  came  bursting  over  one.      I   cer- 
tainly did  think  then  for  a  minute  I  should  never 
live  through  it :  and  if  I  hadn't  just  happened  to 
clutch  at  the  boat  as  it  passed  on  the  crest  of  the 
ridge,    I   fancy  I   shouldn't   have   pulled    through, 
either.     But  don't  think,"  and  here  he  lowered  his 
voice  a  moment,  "it  was  all  pure  devotion  to  duty, 
and  saving  life,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,     I  'm  not 
quite  sure,  Miss  Trevelyan,  that  for  anybody  else  I 
should  ever  have  had  strength  to  do  it." 

Olga  looked  up  at  him  with  a  delightful  smile. 
"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said  frankly.  "  Then  I 
suppose  to-night,  of  course,  you'll  seize  the  oppor- 
tunity at  once  and  propose  to  her.      After  that  she 


1:1/ il 


\i  \\ 


i  '  '    . 


could  never  refuse  you. 


lu.  }Ou  oiiuuiu  jusv 


io6 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


if 


H 


m 


hear,  Mr.  Tennant,  all  the  things  she  's  been  saying 
to  me  upstairs  about  you." 

P'or  a  moment,  Alan  drew  back  in  surprise.  He 
could  hardly  understand  what  Olga  meant  by  it. 
Then,  as  her  misconception  dawned  slowly  upon 
him,  he  took  her  hand,  unresisted,  gently  in  his 
own,  and  led  her  passive  for  a  moment  on  to  the 
lawn  outside,  through  the  open  window. 

"Miss  Trevelyan,"  he  said,  very  low  and  soft, 
"you  don't  understand  me.  I  'm  not  sure  that  for 
any  other  woman  on  earth  but  you,  I  should  have 
had  strength  to  do  it.  But  j'ou  asked  me;jyou  sent 
me  :  and  if  you  had  told  me  that  moment  to  go  to 
the  world's  end,  I  would  gladly  have  done  it.  I 
will  take  your  advice  and  seize  the  opportunity. 
Olga,  Olga,  I  love  you,  I  love  you. " 

Olga  stood  away  for  a  second  in  surprise.  Then 
she  lifted  her  big  eyes  slowly  to  his,  and  said  in  the 
same  simple  straightforward  tone  as  before,  "  Why, 
Mr.  Tennant,— I  thought— I  thought— I  thought  it 
was  Norah. " 

Alan  Tennant  gazed  at  her  with  eyes  of  mingled 
admiration  and  amusement. 

"Norah!"  he  cried.  "Norah!  Norah!  Oh, 
no;  oh,  no ;  it  wasn't  Miss  Bickersteth.  Ask  her, 
ask  her  :  she  knows  better.     She  knows  I  love  vou. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


107 


From  the  very  first  moment  I  ever  saw  you,  I  felt 
in  my  heart  I  could  never  love  any  lesser  creature. 
And  you  will  let  me  love  you  ?  You  will  let  me 
love  you  ?  " 

She  paused  a  moment.      "  But  Norah  ? "  she  said. 
"  What  about  Norah  ?  " 

"Norah!"  Alan  cried,  in  an  impassioned  voice. 
"  Norah  !  Norah  !  Oh,  no  :  I  never  cared  a  pin  for 
Norah  !  Norah  knows  I  am  in  love  with  you,  and 
expects  me  to  tell  you  so  !  01<;a,  Olga,  you  will  not 
refuse  me  !     You  will  take  me  !     You  will  take  me  !  " 

Her  hero  looked  absolutely  heroic  then  : — and 
besides,  the  five  minutes  just  before  dinner  is  a 
most  cramped  and  awkward  time  to  choose  for  such 
an  interview.  Olga's  face  flushed  crimson  for  a 
moment — Mrs.  Tristram  would  be  down  before  she 
could  get  him  back  safe  into  the  drawing-room  :  and 
everybody  would  notice  it  and  read  her  secret !  She 
paused  again  while  a  man  might  count  ten,  and 
looked  at  him  hesitatingly  with  her  beautiful  big 
eyes.  Then  she  laid  her  hand  once  more  in  his  for 
a  brief  second,  and  answered  in  an  almost  inaudible 
voice,  "Yes,  Mr.  Tennant."  Next  instant,  he  was 
standing  by  himself  on  the  grass,  andOlga,  crimson 
still  and  very  tremulous,  had  run  in  by  the  front 
(ioor,  and  hurried  up  again  to  her  own  bcdroum. 


i: 


^h  ll 


If! 


io8 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


! 


They  had   to  wait   dinner   full   ten  minutes   for 
her;  and    when  she    came  down    once  more,   she 
looked  flushed  and  agitated.     But  happily  Alan,  as 
the  guest  of  the  evening,  did  not  sit  beside  her.     He 
took  down    Mrs.   Hilary  Tristram,  and  had  Norah 
(the  preserved)  on  his  left  hand.     That  was  a  great 
comfort  to  poor  Olga.     To  be  sure,   it  was  rather 
hard,  just  after  such  an  interview  as  hers  and  Alan's, 
to  engage  spasmodically  in  the  small  talk  of  society 
with  the  young  dragoon  who  took  her  into  dinner  : 
but  at  any  rate  it  was  better  than  if  she  had  had  to 
talk  to  Alan.     That,  under  the  circumstances,  would 
have  been  too  embarrassing. 

Of  course  neither  of  them  said  anything  to  any- 
body about  the  little  episode  that  had  happened  be- 
fore dinner.  But  women  have  eyes  whose  keenness 
wonderfully  puzzles  us  poor  purblind  men.  As  the 
ladies  roso  to  go  into  the  drawing-room,  Norah 
slipped  her  arm  around  Olga's  waist  playfully  in  the 
hall,  and  whispered  in  her  ear,  "I'm  so  glad,  dar- 
ling. I  knew  he  would.  I  was  quite  certain  of  it  !  " 
And  Olga  only  blushed  once  more— she  was  sweet 
when  she  blushed— rnd  gave  her  pretty  little  friend's 
hand  a  silent  squeeze  with  her  burning  fingers. 


Of  course  the  engagement  was  ''not  announced.' 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


109 


Engagements  of  that  informal  and  purely  personal 
sort  never  are  announced,  until  the  consent  of  the 
superior  authorities  has  been  duly  obtained.  But 
they  get  whispered  about  unofficially  for  all  that. 
And  when  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  mentioned  in  con- 
fidence the  very  next  day  to  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon 
that  Norah  had  told  her  that  Olga  had  as  good  as 
admitted  that  Alan  Tennant  had  made  her  an  offer, 
Sir  Donald  twirled  his  gray  moustache  and  shook 
his  heavy  head  ominously. 

"Young  bodies  won't  be  warned,"  he  said  with  a 
gloomy  look  of  intense  foreboding.  "I  was  afraid 
of  as  much  when  yon  lad  spoke  of  her  to  me 
yesterday.  People  may  laugh  at  the  second-sight 
as  much  as  they,  will,  but  I  told  you  then— and  you 
see  it's  coming  true  already— there  was  mischief 
brewing  ahead  for  young  Alan  Tennant.  The  girl 's 
a  good  lass,  and  a  pretty  lass,  and  a  clever  lass,  and 
she  means  no  evil  :  but  there's  a  Thing  within  her, 
driving  her  on,  that  '11  lead  her  into  trouble  when 
she  least  expects  it." 


-  I 


no 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


THE  STORM    GATHERS. 


Time  wore  on.  Alan  Tennant's  holiday  was 
drawing  to  a  close.  Six  weeks  is  a  long  rest  for  a 
busy  and  successful  London  specialist  :  and  Alan 
Tennant  had  made  the  best  of  his,  for  himself  and 
for  Olga.  A  few  days  before  he  was  to  leave  Thor- 
borough,  Norah  Bickersteth  happened  to  meet  him 
on  the  Shell  Path. 

**0h,  I'm  so  glad  I've  knocked  up  against 
you,  Mr.  Tennant,"  she  said  with  a  sunny  smile, 
holding  out  her  pretty  Httle  gloved  hand  to 
him.  "Auntie  gave  me  a  message  for  you  to- 
day. You  're  going  up  the  river  with  Harry,  aren't 
you  ? " 

"Yes,"  Alan  answered.  "We're  going  in  the 
duck-boat — the  Indian  Princess,  you  know — ^just  to 
let  Harry  have  a  general  view  of  the  prospects  of 
the  wild-fowl  shooting." 

"  Well,  auntie  wants  you  to  come  in  this  evening, 
after  dinner— you  '11  excuse  our  sayine  after  dinner. 


Kalee's  Shrine.  m 

won't  you  ?  Sir  Donald  's  going  to  bring  round  Mr. 
Keen— the  great  mesmerist,  you  know,  and  thought- 
reader,  and  so  forth  :  he  does  such  wonderful  tricks, 
they  say  :  and  auntie  wants  you  to  come  and  see 
him,  because  you  're  so  clever,  and  you  '11  under- 
stand all  about  it." 

Alan    smiled.      "Oh,    yes,    I'll  come,"   he  said. 
"Only   Mrs.  Tristram   mustn't    expect    to   find  me 
very  much  of  a  believer  in  thought-reading  and  so 
forth.     Is  Mr.  Keen  stopping  with  Sir  Donald  ?     Ah, 
yes,  I  thought  so.      Sir  Donald  's  a  Highlander,  with 
Highland  superstitions  well  ingrained  in  him,  and  a 
little  improved  (like  good  Madeira)  by  twenty  years 
of  India.     But  Miss  Bickersteth,  mind,   there  must 
be  no  mesmerizing  or  thought-reading  on   any  ac- 
count with  Olga. "     (He  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  her 
since  the  trip  on  the  yacht,  and  it  had  come  to  be 
plain  "Olga"  by  this  time.)     "She  isn't  strong,  and 
she  's  had  a  great  deal  of  nervous  excitement  to  up- 
set her  lately,   and  she  should  be  kept  from  any- 
thing that  will  excite  her  in  any  way.     Tell  Mrs. 
Tristram  I  shall  be  delighted  to  drop  in.     I  mustn't 
keep  you  :  Harry  's  waiting  for  me  with  the  boat 
down  yonder  at  the  Haven.     Good  morning.     Till 
after  dinner." 
And  he  lifted  his  hat 


illi  II 


and  walked  aw 


i^-,'~ 


ay  onskly 


112 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


m 


ti 


That  evening,  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram's  informal 
party  was  larger  than  usual.  Half  the  visitors  at 
Thorborough  had  been  invited  to  drop  in  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  the  celebrated  mesmerist's  extra- 
ordinary performance.  Only  Harry  Bickersteth  and 
Alan  Tennant  were  still  absent :  delayed  up  the 
river,  no  doubt,  by  the  turn  of  the  tide,  and  not  to 
be  looked  for  back  again  till  late  in  the  evening. 

"  It's  very  odd  Alan  doesn't  turn  up,"  Olga  whis- 
pered uneasily  in  Norah's  ear.  "Ever  since  that 
trouble  the  other  day  with  you,  dear,  I  hate  the 
river.  It 's  so  awfully  dangerous.  I  wish  he  'd 
come  :  it  quite  frightens  me," 

"Oh,  nonsense,  darling,"  Norah  answered  with  a 
smile,  "Of  course  I  know  you're  very  anxious  to 
see  him.  That 's  natural  ;  I  should  be  myself,  I  'm 
sure.  But  he  's  all  right  :  don't  be  afraid.  They  'd 
come  home  late,  and  have  dinner  together  in  flannels, 
at  the  Royal  Alexandra ;  and  then  they  'd  have  to 
dress,  you  know ;  and  they  couldn't  be  here  till  a 
good  deal  later.  Hush,  hush  :  Mr.  Keen  's  going  to 
begin  the  mesmerism  now.  'Observe,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  there's  no  deception.'  You  see  he's  roll- 
ing up  his  sleeves  beforehand,  just  like  a  conjurer, 
in  order  to  let  us  notice  he  hasn't  got  any  ghosts  or 
spirits  or  supernatural  agents  concealed  anywhere  in 


# 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


113 


his  cuffs  or  coat-lining.     What  funny  thin  hands-GO 
strange  and  ghost-like." 

There  was  a  general  hush,  and  the  company 
drew  up  in  a  hasty  circle,  the  ladies  seated,  the  men 
standing  behind  their  chairs,  with  a  clear  space  for 
Mr.  Keen  and  his  -  subjects"  in  the  centre,  where  a 
solitary  seat  was  placed  for  the  person  to  be  mes- 
merized. 

"I  will  begin,"  Mr.  Keen  said,  looking  round  him 
carelessly  at  the  assembled  company  with  the  bland 
smile  of  the  practised  performer,  ''I  will  begin  first 
upon  this  young  gentleman. "  He  singled  out  a  boy 
quickly  from  the  group  behind.  "I  see  you're 
susceptible.  Stand  forward,  please.  Take  a  seat 
there,  will  you?  Now,  look  steadily  into  my 
eyes,  my  boy,  and  think  about  nothing  until  I  tell 
you." 

The  boy  took  the  seat  where  the  mesmerist  mo- 
tioned him,  and  looked  as  requested  deep  into  his 
eyes.  After  a  few  minutes,  his  eyelids  dropped, 
and  he  began  to  fall  back  heavily  in  the  chair. 

The  performer,  with  practised  ease,  put  him 
rapidly  through  all  the  usual  and  well-known  tricks 
by  which  the  mesmerist  is  wont  to  show  the  abey- 
ance of  the  will  and  the  absolute  acquiescence  of  the 

subiect  "  in  hie  fv^r^'  <^ii~f-""i' 

o 


•  < 


jl 


IN 


ul 


114 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


"You're  a  bird,  aren't  jou?"  Mr.  Keen  asked, 
addressing-  him  authoritatively. 

And  the  boy,  with  a  nod  of  the  head,  began 
at  once  to  flap  his  arms,  run  forward  flightily, 
and  behave  as  if  he  thought  himself  really  fly- 
ing. 

"What  are  you  ? "  the  mesmerist  asked  in  a  coax- 
ing voice. 

"A  bird,"  the  boy  answered  with  the  instanta- 
neous force  of  complete  conviction. 

"A  bird  ?"  dubiously. 

"Well— I  think  so." 

"No,  not  a  bird  !     A  bird  !     Ridiculous  I  " 

The  boy  laughed.     "No,  not  a  birdj"  he  said. 
"  A  bird  !     What  nonsense." 

"Of  course  not, "the  mesmerist  went  or.  confident- 
ly. "You're  a  fish,  you  know.  A  fish,  most  de- 
cidedly." 

The  boy  laughed  once  more,  a  nervous  laugh. 
"A  fish,"  he  repeated  in  a  bewildered  fashion,  and 
throwing  himself  on  the  floor  began  to  move  his 
arms  slowly  and  regularly,  as  if  swimming  with  fins 
in  a  sluggish  river. 

"The  stream  runs  fast,"  the  mesmerist  suggested. 

The  boy  immediately  quickened  the  movement, 
and  seemed  to   be  struggling  in   the  violent  effort 


Kalce's  Shrine. 


115 


to   make  headway  against  some   unseen  but  over- 
whelming power. 

"Do  you  believe  in  it?"  Norah   whispered  in  a 
low  undertone  to  Olga. 

"Not  a  bit,"  Olga  answered,  shaking  her  heu. 

"The  boy's  shamming;  that's  my  idea  about  it. 

It  must  be  a  preconcerted   thing  between  them." 

Low  as  she  spoke,  the  mesmerist  overheard  her." 

"You  shall  try  in  your  turn,  young  lady,"  he  said 

severely,  glancing  at  her  with  his  great  cold  dull 

blue   eyes— eyes  that  seemed  totally  devoid  of  all 

life  or  meaning.      '«  You  shall  see  for  yourself  before 

the  evening's  out  whether  there's  anything  in  it  or 

nothing.  " 

Olga  blushed,  and  remained  silent. 

"What's  that?"  the  mesmerist  cried  to  the  boy 
suddenly,  striking  an  attitude  of  attention  and  listen- 
ing in  surprise.      "  Do  you  hear  ?     Do  you  hear  it  ?" 

The  boy  jumped  up  immediately  from  the  floor, 
and  stood  looking  about  him  and  turning  his  head,' 
first  this  way,  then  that,  as  if  straining  his  ear  for 
some  distant  sound  or  other. 

"You  mus/  hear  it,"  the  mesmerist  said  in  a  half- 
angry  voice.  "It's  quite  distinct.  Listen!  What 
is  it?" 

*'lhear  it,"  the  boy  answered.     **I  hear  it    of 


i^^^.M 


Ui: 


Ii6 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


i; 


course,  right  enough.     But  I  can't  make  out  exactly 
what  it  is,  for  the  life  of  me,  somehow. " 

"Bells,"  the  mesmerist  sugg^ested  with  confi- 
dence. 

"Ah,"  the  boy  assented.  "So  it  is.  Chimes, 
by  Jingo."  And  he  beat  time  in  a  jangling  sing- 
song with  his  hand  to  the  quick  lilt  of  the  imaginary 
music. 

"  It 's  the  cathedral,"  the  mesmerist  cried,  seizing 
his  arm  suddenly.  "Let's  go  inside.  What  a 
glorious  anthem!  By  George,  it's  splendid!  I  do 
love  to  hear  the  pealing  of  the  organ." 

The  boy  answered  nothing,  but  stood  entranced, 
listening  with  all  his  ears  to  the  unheard  sounds, 
and  smiling  with  a  face  of  glowing  delight  at  the 
inaudible  melody. 

"Pah,"  the  mesmerist  muttered  after  a  minute's 
pause:  "a  false  note!  The  Mlow  plays  badly. 
Inexcusable,  quite.  The  dean  and  chapter  ought 
really  to  keep  a  better  organist." 

The  boy  set  his  teeth  on  edge  at  once  and  drew 
up  his  lips  with  a  pained  expression,  as  we  all  do 
instinctively  at  the  sound  of  a  discord  in  the  midst 
of  music. 

"If  it's  acting,"  -'T:^  Tristram  whispered  low  to 
Olga,  "  it 'sconsumix  ate  acting.     Perfectly  consum- 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


117 


mate.     T  don't  think  Charlie  M  ^edith  has  got  it  in 
him." 

"Let  us  take  another  subject,"  the  mesmerist 
said  quietly,  making  a  few  rapid  passes,  and  releas- 
ing the  boy.  "Will  you  try,  Miss  Bickersteth? 
Thanks.  How  very  good  of  you.  Everybody  will 
know  —with  a  glance  at  Olga— "that  you  at  least 
are  above  suspicion." 

Norah  walked  out  timidly  into  the  centre,  and 
took  her  place,  blushing,  on  the  experimenter's 
chair.  In  a  few  minutes,  she  too  was  asleep,  and 
doing  at  once  all  the  mesmerist's  bidding. 

"Take  this  cup,"  Mr.  Keen  said,  handing  the 
girl  a  lacquered  Japanese  bowl  from  the  little  what- 
not. "There,  drink  it  off,  that's  a  good  girl.  It 's 
very  nasty,  but  you  mustn't  mind  it.  It 's  to  do  you 
good  !     Dr.  Hazleby's  orders  !  " 

Norah  drained   off  the   imaginary  draught,    and 

made   a   most   comical   wry   face   after  it.       "It's 

very  bitter,"   she  said.     "I   don't  like  it.     Please 

don  t    make   me  take  any   more  of  it,    will  you, 

•auntie  ? " 

"Oh,  no,"  the  mesmerist  responded  promptly, 
glancing  round  with  a  look  of  triumph  at  Olga. 
"Here,  have  a  cup  of  coffee  to  take  the  taste 
away."      And  he  handed  \\er  hnrt    +he   ooif^o 


Ii8 


Kalee's  Shrine 


u 


it 


II 


i 


bowl  with  a  little  mocking  bow  of  pretended  polite- 
ness. 

Norah  took  it  and  emptied  it  (in  imagination) 
once  more.  *'It's  very  nice  coffee,"  she  said. 
"Excellent  coffee.  I'll  take  another  cup  of  that 
coffee,  thank  you. " 

"Let  Mr.  Keen  try  with  you,  Olga  dear,"  Mrs. 
Hilary  Tristram  suggested  gently,  turning  to  her. 
"Don't  wake  up  Norah  yet,  Mr.  Keen.  Let's  have 
a  little  comedy  of  two  together." 

"Oh,  please  not,"  Olga  cried,  shrinking  timidly 
back  from  the  performer's  hands,   as  he  took  her 

fingers  gently  in  his.      "I  don't  know  whether " 

and  then  she  checked  herself  with  a  sudden  blush. 
.  .  .  She  didn't  know  whether  Alan  would  ap- 
prove of  it. 

Norah  could  have  said  her  nay  at  once  had  Norah 
been  awake  :  but  Norah  sat  in  the  chair,  silent, 
bound  body  and  soul  in  a  deathlike  trance  by  the 
art  of  the  mesmerist. 

Mr.  Keen,  however,  had  no  intention  of  letting* 
his  sceptical  hearer  off.  "Excuse  me,  young  lady," 
he  said  severely.  "  I  heard  you  remark  just  now 
that  you  didn't  believe  in  it.  You  will  have  to  be- 
lieve in  it  before  the  evening 's  out,  whether  you 
will  or  no.    Come  out   into   the  middle !     Follow 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


119 


me  !     Do  as  I  bid  you  !     Don't  disobey.     Take  a 
seat  there  !  " 

He  spoke  sternly,  in  a  tone  of  command.  Olga 
followed  him  reluctantly,  but  obedient  like  a  child, 
and  sat  down,  still  blushing  and  trembling,  with  a 
sweet  shy  air,  in  the  centre  of  the  circle.  The  I 
man  s  strong  will  seemed  absolutely  indisputable  : 
she  couldn't  even  make  the  necessary  effort  of  will 
to  disobey  it. 

Sir  Donald's  eyes  were  fixed  firmly  upon  her. 
She  averted  her  own  w^ith  a  violent  struggle,  and 
beckoned  hastily  to  Mrs.  Tristram. 

"Suppose,"  she  whispered  low  in  her  hostess's 
ear,  "suppose  he  were  to  ask  me — you  under- 
stand, dear  Mrs.  Tristram— some  awkward  ques- 
tion .? " 

Mrs.  Tristram  smiled  and  nodded  reassuringly. 
"Don't  be  afraid,  dear,"  she  answered  with  a  smile. 
"I'll  take  care  of  that.  He  shall  ask  you  nothing 
about  Mr.  Tennant." 

Olga  threw  back  her  beautiful  head,  a  little  reas- 
sured, and  lifted  her  eyes,  half  against  her  will,  and 
full  of  misgivings,  to  meet  the  mesmerist's  as  he 
began  his  passes. 

Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,  watching  her  closely, 
noticed  soon  that  a  weird  change  came  over  her 


mm 


i'l 


li 


t;!l 


If 


J 


ij 


' 


120 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


}i 


II' 


face.  She  did  not  close  her  eyes,  indeed,  like  Norah, 
but  gradually  sank  back,  with  her  eyelids  open,  and 
her  pupils  dilated,  staring  hard,  as  it  were,  into  dim 
vacancy.  Then  suddenly,  with  a  rise  and  fall  of 
her  heaving  bosom,  she  seemed  t(^  become  aware 
of  some  unseen  Presence.  She  clasped  her  hands, 
bending  forward  eagerly  as  one  who  listens,  while 
her  whole  slight  frame  quivered  and  trembled,  like 
a  leaf  before  the  wind,  with  suppressed  emotion. 
A  muttered  word  hung  unspoken  on  her  lips.  Sir 
Donald  could  hardly  catch  the  sound,  but  he  fancied 
to  himself  from  the  shape  of  the  mouth  that  the 
word  was  "  Kalee  !  " 

Meanwhile  the  mesmerist,  moving  his  hands 
rapidly  to  and  fro  before  her,  redoubled  his  exertions 
to  close  her  eyes  with  the  intensest  energy.  He 
darted  his  fingers  with  strange  gestures  towards  the 
unclosed  lids,  and  seemed  by  his  grimaces  to  be 
struggling  hard  with  some  invisible  enemy.  All 
was  in  vain  :  the  eyelids  still  remained  obstinately 
open  :  and  the  performer  gasped  for  breath  heavily. 
Big  clammy  drops  stood  on  his  moistened  brow  : 
he  was  straining  every  nerve  and  wearying  every 
muscle  in  the  unequal  contest.  Do  what  he  would, 
he  could  not  make  this  obstinate  girl  shut  her  eyes  : 
and  the  very  persistence  with  which  she  held  them 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


121 


open  seemed  to  put  him  more  and  more  earnestly 
upon  his  mettle. 

At  last  he  sank  exhausted  into  a  chair.  "  It  s  no 
use,"  he  muttered  discontentedly,  folding  his  arms. 
"I  was  never  so  utterly  baffled  in  my  life  before. 
The  girl 's  an  enigma  !  She  s  too  self-willed  for  me  ! 
And  a  mere  chit  of  a  child  too  !  I  must  give  it  up. 
She  ivoiit  be  mesmerized." 

As  he  spoke,  Olga  rose  slowly,  staggering  from 
her  seat,  and  stood  gazing  with  a  wild  stare  into 
blank  space  before  her. 

The  mesmerist  observed  her  eyes  in  sudden 
amazement.  "Great  heavens!"  he  cried,  slowly 
realizing  the  true  state  of  the  case  :  "she  is  asleep  ! 
Asleep  already  !  Fast  asleep  all  the  time,  by  Jove, 
and  with  her  eyes  open  !  " 

''She  always  sleeps  so,"  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram 
whispered  softly  in  his  ear.  "Mr.  Tennant  told 
dear  Norah  it  was  due  to  some  slight  congenital 
injury  to  the  nerves  of  the  eyelids." 

Sir  Donald  IMackinnon  whistled  low.  "I  thought 
so,"  he  muttered.  "Odd— confoundedly  odd,  too. 
Keen,  come  here  ;  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

The  two  men  whispered  together  alone  for  a 
second,  and  then  Sir  Donald,  as  by  mute  assent, 
standing   forth   in   the   middle  by  the   mesmerist's 


1:1 


itti 


122 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


ii 


II 


side,   spoke   out   a  loud   sliort  sentence  in  Hindu- 
stani. 

Olga  started  like  a  frightened  fawn,  and  bowed 
her  head  humbly  at  the  sound.  "Great  Kalee," 
she  cried,  in  the  came  language,  but  in  low  and 
strangely  altered  accents,  "I  hear  thy  behest.  I 
obey  the  summons." 

Not  a  soul  present  save  Sir  Donald  and  Lady 
Mackinnon  knew  the  precise  import  of  those  terrible 
words  :  but  the  deep  earnestness  and  thrilling  con- 
viction with  which  Olga  spoke  them  made  every  one 
in  the  drawing-room  shudder  with  horror.  A  terrible 
change  had  come  at  once  over  her  voice  and  coun- 
tenance. It  was  no  longer  Olga— their  gentle,  soft- 
souled  Olga,  that  spoke  ;  it  was  the  low,  suppressed 
implacable  murmur  of  a  human  tigress. 

Sir  Donald  uttered  another  word  or  two,  incom- 
prehensible to  the  rest  of  the  visitors  ;  and  then 
Olga,  moving  forward  a  step  or  two  wildly  from  her 
seat,  cast  her  hungry  eyes  around  in  doubt  upon  the 
assembled  company. 

She  scanned  them  all,  with  a  searching  glance  : 
presently,  her  great  glittering  pupils  fixed  themselves 
upon  Norah,  where  she  sat  helpless  on  the  chair  in 
the  centre.  The  mesmerist  touched  Norah's  eyes 
with   his  flabby  fingers,   and  they  opened  at  once 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


123 


as  if  by  magic.  She  gazed  at  Olga  in  mute  fascina- 
tion. A  violent  wave  of  passionate  emotion  swept 
with  fierce  force  over  the  elder  girl's  agitated  features. 

"Must  that  be  the  sacrifice?"  she  murmured 
slowly  in  English,  but  with  concentrated  horror. 
"Must  that  be  the  sacrifice?  Hard:  hard!  ButKalee 
wills  it !  It  is  well !  It  is  well  !  I  obey  the  goddess  !  " 

She  drew  from  her  neck  her  large  silk  kerchief— 
an  Indian  kerchief,  delicately  figured,  folded  round 
her  dress  diagonally  as  a  sort  of  fichu ;  and  proceeded 
to  twist  it  into  a  running  noose.  Then  she  slowly 
took  three  steps  forward  towards  the  vacantly 
smiling  Norah. 

Sir  Donald  started  in  a  perfect  agony  of  expecta. 
tion.  "Great  powers!"  he  cried.  "The  girl  is 
twisting  that  handkerchief  round  exactly  as  if  she 
were  noosing  a  roomal." 

"What  is  a  roomal?"  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram 
asked  in  an  awed  undertone. 

"A  roomal  !  "  Sir  Donald  answered  with  affected 
carelessness.  "Oh,  nothing,  nothing.  Just  merely 
a  handkerchief  A  handkerchief  used  by  the  Thugs, 
you  know,  to  throttle  and  garrote  their  helpless  vic- 
tims. The  girl  looks  as  if  she  meant  to  try  it,  too. 
Just  notice  her  action  ?  " 

Olga  turned  and  stared  him  stoutly  in  the  face. 


Ij 


fit! 


Ml 


124 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


i 


I ' 


She  stared  with  a  bold  and  impudent  air,  and 
answered  in  a  voice  of  low  effrontery,  "This  isn't 
a  roomal,  you  see,"  shaking  it  out;  "it's  only 
a  neckerchief — a  common  neckerchief." 

"  Leave  her  alone,"  Mr.  Keen  interposed  in  alow 
undertone.  "Let  us  see  the  natural  end  of  the 
whole  little  drama.  We  won't  interfere.  We  '11  let 
her  act  it  out.  We  '11  leave  her  entirely  to  her  own 
devices  and  her  own  promptings." 

Olga  turned  away  once  more  with  a  glance  over 
her  shoulder,  and  continued  twisting  the  noose  in 
the  handkerchief.  Then  she  stepped  yet  one  pace 
nearer  to  the  unconscious  Norah,  who  sat  now  with 
wide-open  eyes,  gazing  helpless  at  her  friend,  as  if 
some  snake  had  fascinated  her  with  its  fatal  glance. 
A  cold  chill  ran  through  the  fair  girl's  slight  figure 
as  Olga  approached,  stiL  ceiling  the  handkerchief  in 
her  slender  fingers.  Norah  had  no  power  to  stir  or 
speak ;  but  with  a  paralyzed  air  she  watched  and 
waited,  as  the  fluttering  bird  watches  and  waits  for 
the  advancing  serpent.  Next  moment,  she  knew, 
in  her  dimly  conscious  mind,  that  coiling  handker- 
chief would  be  around  her  own  neck  to  strangle  her 
pitilessly.  It  was  not  her  sweet  friend  who  was 
creeping  slowly  upon  her ;  it  was  some  evil  spirit, 
•some  irreat  black  creature,  coming-  nearer,  nearer. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


125 


And  yet,  she  knew  not  why,  she  was  not  afraid; 
merely  spellbound,  fascinated,  immovable.  She 
did  not  cry,  or  try  to  cry,  as  in  a  hideous  nightmare  : 
she  waited  calmly  and  awfully  for  her  approaching 
destiny. 

As  Olga  stood  there,  irresolute  and  hesitating, 
with  the  handkerchief  coiled  and  noosed  like  a  lasso 
in  her  tremulous  fingers,  a  sign  from  Sir  Donald 
informed  the  mesmerist  that  enough  of  the  drama 
had  now  been  acted.  The  next  step  in  the  play 
would  have  been  far  too  hideous  for  public  rehearsal. 
Sir  Donald  was  satisfied  :  his  conjecture  was  cor- 
rect :  the  votary  of  Kalee  stood  openly  confessed 
and  unm-'-ked  before  him.  He  motioned  to  Mr. 
Keen,  ar  :  Mr.  Keen,  with  a  sigh  of  regret,  placing 
himself  behind  Norah's  chair,  began  a  series  of  re- 
versed passes,  intended  to  bring  the  unconscious 
Olga  back  to  her  own  waking  personality.  At  the  first 
pass,  the  bloodless  hands  ceased  as  if  by  magic  from 
twisting  the  kerchief.  Two  or  three  more  sufficed  to 
rouse  Olga  to  her  first  mesmeric  stage,  as  she  stood 
with  her  big  beautiful  eyes  staring  vacantly  into 
space  before  her.  But  there  the  mesmerist's  power 
failed  him.  He  endeavored  in  vain  to  fully  wake 
her.     Pass  after  pass  was  tried  with  no  effect. 

A  tun  I  uu  ii,    iic  iiiUiierea  angrily  at  last.      "  1 


1  ^  *;; 


!l'- 


126 


Kaliv's  Slirino. 


it 


!li 


I  Hi 


\V(>rk»Ml  so  hanl  at  i>ultinj^  hvv  into  the  comatose 
condition  tluat  I  can't  tor  the  life  of  nje  now  i^-et 
her  out  of  it  ai^iin.  I'm  faint,  faint:  I  have  h)st 
power.  I  went  too  far.  Ihandy,  brandy,  (luick  ! 
l>rinj;'  me  some  brandy  ! 

lie  sank  upon  a  couch,  with  Ids  arms  fohied  Hst- 
lessly  in  tront  (^f  1dm.  'I'hey  broui^ht  the  brandy, 
and  he  pouii'd  himsiMf  out  a  bij;- wine<;lassful,  which 
he  t(^ssed  otf  neat  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
Then  he  waited  and  fanned  himself  with  his  hand- 
kiMchief  a  little.  At  last,  as  the  spirit  j^avc  him 
fresh  streni^th,  he  n^-^e  slowly,  and  once  nu)re  con- 
frt)nted  that  immovable  statue,  standing  cold  ami 
white  with  the  untwisted  hamlkerchief  hang-ing- 
h)osely  ncnv  from  the  i>alliil  lini^crs.  A  few  more 
passes  undid  the  spell.  01s.;a  gave  a  great  start — 
a  short  sharp  cry — and  woke  up  suddenly  with  a 
terrible  awakening.  Her  eyes  came  back  at  once 
to  measurable  space  from  the  remote  distance.  The 
expression  of  concentrated  deteiriunation  and  fero- 
city in  her  I'lxed  features  gave  way  first  to  one  of 
pure  bewiUlerment  and  next  to  another  of  unspeak- 
able shamefaced  horror.  She  gazed  around  her  in 
awe  for  a  moment  as  if  barely  conscious  of  her  pres- 
ent surroundings  :  then,  with  the  one  word  "  Kalec  " 
bursting    painfully    from    Jier    blanched    lips,    she 


Kalcc's  Siiriiic. 


127 


drnpj)C(l  llio  hamlkcrcliief  in  a  frenzy  of  shame,  and 
darted,  conscientx'-slricken,  liastily  from  the  room. 
Mrs.  Tristram  made  a  sij^n   with  her  liand  to  one  of 
the  elder  ^'uIh.      'I'iie  ^^rl  understood  anil  liurriedly 
followed  her. 

The  mesmerist,  with  a  smile  of  self-conscious 
triumph  on  liis  inexpressive  face,  glanced  round  for 
applause  at  the  attentive  company.  Nobody  ap- 
plauded. It  was  all  too  life-like,  too  vivid,  too  ter- 
rible. The  line  which  separates  illusion  from  fact 
had  been  overstepped.  The  suggested  tragedy 
came  too  near  a  real  one. 

Mr.  Keen,  baffled  of  his  expected  applause,  moved 
over  quietly  to  the  still  smiling  Norah.  He  waved 
his  hands  once  or  twice  before  her,  and  she  woke 
forthwith,  breathing  hard  and  deep,  in  a  weary 
fashion. 

"What  did  you  think  you  felt  ?  "  Sir  Donald  asked, 
coming  mysteriously  with  a  whisper  to  her  side. 
'  "I  don't  exactly  remember,"  Norah  answered 
with  a  sigh.  "I  feel  so  awfully  dreamy  still.  I 
don't  like  it  I  wish  I  hadn't  allowed  Mr.  Keen  to 
mesmerize  me.  But  I  think  I  fancied  I  was  some- 
where in  India,  in  a  sort  of  jungle— I  don't  know 
what — but  something  or  other  terrible  was  going 
to  happen.   .  ,  ,      It  wasn't  snakes    and   it  wasn't 


k  fcl 


128 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


;  j 


1  (  i 


{F 
hi 


tigers.     .     .     .     There    was   a    woman     ...     a 
black    woman     ...   a  tall    black  woman — with 

awful  eyes "     She  broke  off  suddenly.      "Give 

me  a  glass  of  wine,"  she  cried  in  a  pained  ^oice. 
"  I  can't  bear  to  think  any  more  about  it" 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


129 


CHAPTER  IX. 


LOWERING    CLOUDS. 

Sir  Donald  turned  and  walked  into  the  garden. 
His  brow  was  hot,  and  liis  fancy  fired.  He  paced 
the  lawn  quickly  and  excitedly  The  mesmerist 
stepped  with  a  dejected  air  in  long  strides  beside 
him. 

"Keen,"  the  old  Indian  cried  at  last,  "I  don't 
half  like  the  look  of  it.  This  is  not  all  right.  I  'm 
superstitious,  I  know,  but  I  don't  care  a  straw  what 
you  call  me  in  that  matter.  Did  you  see  yourself 
what  the  girl  was  doing?  She  was  noosing  that 
kerchief,  regular  Thug  fashion,  to  strangle  Norah 
Bickersteth  I  " 

The  mesmerist  bit  his  lip  reflectively.  "Never 
saw  such  an  unappreciative  audience  in  all  my  life," 
he  said  in  a  testy  voice.  -  They  might  have  given 
me  a  round  with  their  hands  at  least.  It 's  the  best 
bit  of  mesmerism  I  ever  did  in  my  born  days.  The 
girl's  acting  was  simply  magnificent  !  " 

"Acting!"  Sir  Donald  echoed    contemptuously. 


N       !    I 


Hi 


130 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


"It    wasn't   acting!     It    was  sheer    reality!     The 
lassie  s  a  Thug  !     She  's  been  dedicated  to  Kalee  !  " 

Mr.  Keen  glanced  curiously  sideways  at  his 
companion.  Scotchmen  have  certainly  got  some 
queer  ideas  of  their  own.  Besides,  tlic  old  fellow 
had  obviously  appreciated  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram's 
excellent  cognac.  Drunk  or  mad,  one  or  the  other ! 
The  mesmerist  marvelled,  and  said  nothing. 

Presently  Sir  Donald  spoke  again.  He  clutched 
his  friend's  arm  in  the  shadow  of  the  lilac  bushes. 

"Keen,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  tell  you  something. 
I  knew  Everard  Trevelyan  well  in  India.  He  had 
but  two  children,  this  girl  Olga,  and  a  boy  called 
Theodore.  .  .  .  Now,  listen  to  me,  and  don't 
make  light  of  it.  It's  a  deuced  odd  fact,  Keen, 
but  it 's  true  for  all  that,  what  I  *m  going  to  tell  you. 
As  I  stood  there  and  watched  her  just  this  minute,  a 
picture  rose  distinctly  before  my  eyes — a  picture 
I'd  clean  forgotten  for  years— picture  of  Everard 
Trevelyan's  bungalow  at  Moozuffernugger.  The 
boy  was  lying  dead  in  his  cot— her  little  brother- 
two  days  before  she  came  away  from  India.  There 
was  a  mystery  about  it,  never  cleared  up.  Some 
said  the  bearer,  and  some  the  ayah  ;  but  anyhow 
the  thing  was  very  remarkable.  The  child  had  a 
dark  blue  line  traced  right  around  his  throat,  and  his 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


131 


eyes  and  tongue  protruded  horribly,  for  all  the  world 
as  if  he  'd  been  suffocated.  One  would  say,  a  hand- 
kerchief tied  about  his  neck.  They  never  discovered 
how  it  happened.  Nobody  could  be  convicted  of 
it.  .  .  .  They  never  thought  of  his  little  sister. 
.  .  .  Deuced  odd,  I  call  it,  Keen,  don't  you, 
really  ?  " 

The  mesmerist  looked  at  him  with  glassy  eyes. 

"Re-markably  odd,"  he  said  in   a   careless  voice. 

•*  Re-markably.     Re-markably." 

Sir  Donald  took  another  turn  and  muttered  half 
to  himself— it  was  clear  his  companion  was  wholly 
unsympathetic— "Suspicion  never  pointed  to  any- 
one. Ayah,  desperately  fond  of  the  children,  wept 
like  a  child  when  Olga  was  taken  from  her.  . 
And  yet  it 's  certainly  very  odd.  The  girl  seemed 
guileless  and  simple  enough.  .  .  .  But  who 
can  tell.?  Kalee's  emissaries  go  forth  unconscious 
in  their  deep  sleep.  Depend  upon  it,  there's  some- 
thing in  it,  there's  something  in  it." 

He  j)aced  the  lawn  once  more  feverishly  :  then 
he  spoke  again  :  "  I  remember  well  when  the  news 
was  broken  to  her  !  She  cred  as  if  her  little  heart 
v/ould  burst.  Poor  little  soul,  I  can  see  her  this 
minute !  .  .  .  It's  very  strange.  I  don't  half 
like  the  look  of  it." 


I 


M 


I  H 


nU 


132 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


^  i 


ihi 


ji 

ill 


The   mesmerist   turned   and   stared   him   in    the 
face.      "My    dear   Mackinnon,"    he    said    testily, 
"you  're  talking  an  awful  lot  of  pure  rubbish.     Mes 
merism  's  a  very  powerful  agency.     It  brought  back 
forgotten  old  Indian  reminiscences  to  the  girl's  mind: 
stirred  the  inmost  chords  and  fibres  of  her  most  in- 
timate nature  :  set  her  even  speaking  her  outlandish 
lingo,  in  which  you  and  she  can  jabber  together  so 
glibly.     She  must  have  heard  some  Indian  servant, 
who  was  about  her  as  a  child,    talk  much  of  the 
Thugs,   or  whatever  you  call  them  :  and  that  set 
her  excited  fancy  working,   and  made  her  go  off  at 
once  on  the  Thug  hallucination.     Believe   me,   you 
underestimate  the  power  of  mesmerism." 

Sir  Donald  only  looked  up  meditatively  at  the 
stars.  "There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and 
earth,  Horatio;"  he  muttered  in  aslow drawl,  "  than 
are  dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy." 


''f 


Meanwhile,  Olga,  in  her  own  room,  had  been 
joined  by  Norah,  who  came  up  pale  and  trembling 
to  inquire  for  her. 

"What  has  made  you  ill,  darling?"  the  younger 
girl  asked  her  tenderly,  throwing  her  soft  arm  in  a 
caressing  attitude  round  her  friend's  neck. 

Olga  drew  back  instinctively   from   her    touch. 


(( 


Kalee's  Shrine. 
Oh,  don't  put  your  hand  on  me,  don't 


133 


come  near 

me,  Norah,"  she  cried  in  alarm.  "I  don't  know 
what 's  the  matter  with  me  to-night.  1  don  't  feel  a 
bit  like  myself  at  all.  I  seem  to  be  so  wicked,  so 
terribly  wicked.     You  mustn't  touch  me  !  " 

"Fou  wicked,   dariing!"  Norah  echoed,  kissing 
her.     "You're  not  wicked.     You   could  never  be 
wicked.     You  're  just  a  saint ;  that 's  what  I  call  you 
Olga." 

Olga  brushed  away  a  rising  tear.  "I  can't 
understand  it  at  all,  Norah  pet,"  she  said  dreamily. 
"  For  the  very  first  time  in  all  my  life,  I  seemed  half 
conscious  in  my  sleep  just  now  of  my  own  actions. 
I  wish— I  wish  to  goodness  they  hadn't  mesmerized 
me." 

Norah  drew  back  with  a  sudden  look  of  alarm. 
" Mesmerized  you,  Olga?"  she  cried  in  much  sur- 
prise. "You  don't  mean  to  say  you  let  them 
mesmerize  you.?  Why,  Mr.  Tennant  begged  me 
not  to  allow  them.  I  wouldn't  have  let  them  if 
only  I  'd  been  awake  myself  and  known  all  about 
it." 

"But  they  did,"  Olga  answered,  "and  I  seemed 
to  be  dimly  aware  all  the  time  I  was  asleep  of 
what  I  was  doing.  And  when  I  awoke— oh,  it  was 
too  horrible  !     .     .     .     Norah,   Norah, 


[M 


Hi 


..    ^^4.       ,_ 


/     F 


CI, 


my 


^MjMBBfc  liaiiWi  ■■■«»'M 


u 


134 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I*' 


(ft 


Or 


in 


darling,  don't,  don't  come  near  me  !     I  beg  of  you. 
I  implore  you." 

"Why,  Olga,  why?" 

"Oh,  Norah,  darling,  as  I  stood  there  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, waking  yet  sleeping,— I'm  afraid  to  tell 
you, — I  seemed  to  be  aware  of  some  awful  being, 
bloodthirsty,    pitiless,    black,    invisible,    floating  in 
front  of  me,   under  whose    orders  I  acted   without 
hope  of  resistance.     I  saw  her  before  me  with  my 
bodily  eyes,  and  I  heard  her  speak  to  me  in  some 
strange  language.     I  had  to  obey  whatever  she  told 
me  :  I  had  to  obey  her,  though  I  hated  and  detested 
it.     I  don't  know  what  it  all  meant,  my  darling,  but 
I  feel  as  if  I  was  terribly,    terribly  wicked.     .     . 
And  what's  worst  and  most  awful  of  all,   Norah,   I 
feel,   now  with   my    quickened   senses,    as    if  that 
terrible  being  had  always,  always  been  quite  familiar 
to  me." 

Norah  soothed  her  neck  with  one  hand,  and 
pressed  her  fingers  tenderly  with  the  other,  but 
answered  nothing. 

Ths  terrified  girl  laid  her  face  gently  on  her 
friend's  shoulder  and  sobbed  away  her  grief  for 
some  moments  in  silence.  Then  she  raised  her 
head  once  more  and  murmured,  "  And  Alan  didn't 
want  me  to  be  mesmerized  !     I've  disobeyed  Alan 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


135 


without  knowing  it !     Where's  Alan  ?     Has  he  come 
back  yet  ? '" 

"No,"  Norah  answered.  "  Harry  and  he  haven't 
returned.  They  '11  be  back  soon.  Don't  worry, 
darling.  Oh,  I  wish  to  goodness  you  hadn't  been 
mesmerized." 

"Not  comeback,"  Olga  cried  in  alarm.  "Oh, 
he's  lost!  he's  lost!  Norah!  Norah!  I  saw 
her  smiling,  smiling  horribly.  I  remember  the 
smile  !  It  means  evil !  She  always  smiles  like  that, 
I  know,  when  she  sees  death  or  misfortune  happen 
to  any  one.  It  was  a  ghastly  smile— so  fiendish 
and  exultant.  Oh,  Norah,  Norah,  it  makes  me  faint 
even  to  think  of  her." 

"Of  whom.?  of  whom.?"  Norah  cried  in  horror. 

"I  don't  know.  I  can't  say,  my  darling.  I  can't 
remember  her  right  name  this  minute;  but  I  saw 
her  just  now  !  I  saw  her  I  I  saw  her  !  .  .  . 
He  's  dead  !  He 's  dead  !  I  'm  perfectly  sure  he 
is  !  I  know  that  smile  !  Oh,  Norah,  Norah,  her 
smile  is  so  deadly  !  " 

She  flung  herself  down  at  full  length  on  the  couch, 
buried  her  face  between  her  outstretched  palms, 
and  cried  to  herself  long  and  silently. 

At  last  she  lifted  her  head  once  more.     **And 


i 


lift 


«l 


136 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I  didn't  finish  doing  what  she  bid  me  ! "  she  cried 
in  anguish.  "It  was  very  wrong  of  me  !  I  left 
off  in  the  midst !  I  ought  to  have  finished  doing 
what  she  bid  me  1  " 


;| 


I 

Hi 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


137 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  STORM  BURSTS. 


The  party  in  the  drawing-room  had  broken  up 
rather  suddenly.  Everybody  felt,  in  a  certain  dim 
instinctive  fashion,  there  was  something  uncanny 
about  this  mesmerizing  business.  Sir  Donald  and 
Mr.  Keen  were  idly  pacing  the  lawn  outside  to- 
gether :  Norah  and  Olga  had  retired  to  the  obscurity 
of  their  own  bedroom.  Conversation  languished. 
Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  tried  in  vain  the  recuperative 
effect  of  a  little  music.  One  of  the  guests  sat  down 
to  the  piano,  and  touching  the  keys  lightly  de- 
clared in  a  loud  soprano  voice  she  was  *'a  happy 
haymaker. "  Nobody  took  the  slightest  notice  of  the 
romantic  and  obviously  inopportune  declaration. 
The  elder  men  suggested  cards:  but  the  younger 
(as  usual)  all  disclaimed  the  most  elementary  knowl- 
edge of  the  game  of  whist,  and  sidled  off  moodily 
in  little  knots  into  remote  corners.  It  was  clear 
the  harmony  of  the  evening  had  been  quite  spoilt. 
That  unfortunate  mesmerizing  had  totally  upset  the 


!        1 


I  'J 


')'  -^^1 

11 

III 

«iM^H 

■:    i 


II 


138 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


delicate  nerves  of  the  assembled  company.  Mrs, 
Hilary  Tristram,  best  and  ablest  of  hostesses,  re- 
linquished the  position  at  last  as  hopeless.  Retreat- 
ing gracefully,  she  subsided  of  herself  into  an  easy- 
chair,  and  assumed  the  attitude  of  one  r  ,  ,■;  >olly 
indisposed  at  an  early  hour  to  speed  the  ^^arting 
guest  with  a  glass  of  seltzer  and  a  friendly  valedic- 
tion. 

The  guests  for  their  part  soon  interpreted  the  lan- 
guid attitude  of  their  hostess  aright.     One  after  an- 
other dropped  off  rapidly,  with  mechanical  thanks, 
as  they  bowed  themselves  out    for  a  very  pleasant 
and  interesting  evening.      ''Deuced  slow,"  the  men 
murmured  one  to  the  other,  as  they  lit  their  cigars 
from   borrowed   lights    outside    the    front    porch. 
"  That  mesmerizing  rubbish  simply  spoilt  the  whole 
evening.     Hard  lines  on  those  two  poor  girls,  too, 
to  go  trying  their  constitutions  in  that  stupid  fashion! 
Quite  surprised   at   it,  for  my  part,  in  a   sensible, 
amiable  woman  of  the  world  like  Mrs.  Hilary  Tris- 
tram. " 

Before  the  last  guests  had  muttered  their  farewells, 
Norah  glided  softly  into  the  room  once  more  for  a 
brief  moment,  and  whispered  something  in  her  aunt's 
ear.  Mrs.  Tristram  motioned  back  Dr.  Hazleby  to 
a  chair  with  her  hand. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


139 


*'I  want  to  speak  with  you,"  she  said  in  alow 
voice  as  he  took  his  seat  again.  "Norah  and  Olga 
may  wish  to  consult  you." 

Dr.  Hazleby  sat  back  and  waited  for  the  other 
guests  to  go.  His  conscience  smote  him  for  having 
permitted  the  mesmerist  to  ''carry  this  wretched 
nonsense  so  far  with  Miss  Trevelyan."  In  his  heart 
of  hearts,  he  was  fain  to  confess  to  himself,  .vith  a 
tinge  of  self-contempt  for  the  avowal,  that  there 
was  "something  in  it." 

So  there  was.     More  than  he  imagined. 
Presently  Mrs.   Tristram  ran   upstairs,   and  soon 
came  down  again,  looking  very  agitated. 

"  Poor  dear  Olga  seems  dreadfully  hysterical," 
she  said  with  sigh.  "She  doesn't  look  yet  as  if 
she  'd  quite  got  over  that  horrid  mesmerism.  I  ought 
never  to  have  allowed  the  man  to  work  upon  her 
feelings  so.  She  s  talking  in  a  rambling,  delirious 
sort  of  way,  poor  dear,  about  somebody  having 
compelled  her  against  her  will  to  do  something  or 
other  that  she  thinlcs  dreadfully  wicked.  And  she 
says  there's  someone  or  other  smiHng  horribly  at 
her.  Don't  you  think  Dr.  Hazleby,  just  to  quiet 
her  nerves,  you  ought  to  give  her  something?  " 

Ladies,  even  learned  ladies   like   Mrs.  Tristram, 
regard  medical   science  as  a  form  of  magic,   and 


H 


••; 

';  - 

1  i  ' 

;  1 

V 

]•    : 

1 1 

[    !    !       i 

i 

I 

i 

i|' 

^'l  i  i 

-i. 


H. 


fwml 


140 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


m 


■ 


If' 


drugs  as  a  sort  of  charm  or  fetish.  Their  universal 
remedy  for  all  the  ills  that  female  flesh  is  heir  to, 
from  paralysis  or  heart  disease  down  to  fainting  or 
hysteria,  is  to  "give  her  something."  What,  is 
immaterial.  Morphia  or  sal-volatile,  strychnine 
and  arsenic  or  eau  sucree  tempered  with  orange 
flower  water :  a  drug,  a  drug,  in  the  name  of  all 
that 's  merciful. 

Dr.  Hazleby  went  up  at  once  to  see  the  interest- 
ing patients.  Olga's  pupils  were  very  dilated.  Her 
pulse  was  slow,  yet  bounding  and  unnatural.  She 
seemed  in  a  very  marked  state  of  exhaustion  and 
excitement. 

"  Don't  you  think,  young  ladies,  "he  said  cheerily, 
''you  ought  each  to  have  a  glass  of  port  wine,  just 
to  set  you  up,  now  ? " 

Olga  assented  readily  enough,  and  the  good  doc- 
tor went  down  in  his  clumsy,  hearty  way,  himself, 
to  fetch  it.  -  Wait  a  bit,"  he  said  in  a  stage  aside' 
as  Mrs.  Tristram  poured  it  out  from  the  decanter. 
"I'll  just  run  home  and  get  a  wee  drop  of  some- 
thing stronger— something  to  quiet  the  nerves,  you 
know.  Miss  Trevelyan  seems  to  have  something 
weighing  on  her  mind.  Your  nephew  and  Mr.  Ten- 
nant  haven't  come  in  yet  from  the  river,  I  fancy.' 

"No,"  Mrs.   Tristram   answered.     "  Thev  wpnf 


i 

It  is  , 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


141 


up  the  river  this  afternoon  in  the  duck-boat.  I  'm 
beginning  to  get  a  little  nervous  about  them  my- 
self, to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear  Dr.  Hazleby." 

"Oh,  they '11  be  all  right,  ma'am,"  the  doctor  re- 
plied, with  gruff  kindliness.  "Young  men  are  al- 
ways getting  into  scrapes,  and  frightening  their 
friends,  and  then  turning  up  again.  Depend  upon 
it,  that 's  what 's  the  matter  with  MissTrevelyan.  She 
won't  sleep  a  single  wink  to-night  if  she  doesn't  have 
something  to  quiet  her  nerves  a  bit." 

And  he  ran  hastily  out  of  the  door,  to  his  own  sur- 
gery just  round  the  next  corner. 

When  he  came  back,  he  brought  a  little  phial  loose 
in  his  hand,  and  poured  a  few  drops  of  a  sweet  white 
fluid  from  it  into  each  of  the  glasses.  It  was  the 
same  white  fluid  the  fakir  had  taken  from  his  double 
gourd  and  smeared  on  Olga's  lips  the  day  she  was 
first  dedicated  to  Kalee  ! 

*'What  is  it?  "  Mrs.  Tristram  ventured  timidly  to 
ask. 

"What  is  it?     Oh,  haschish." 

"And  pray  what's  haschish  ?  " 

"  Haschish  ?  Why,  haschish  is  Indian  hemp. 
You  know  the  stuff-— a  common  drug.  It 's  a  pow- 
erful narcotic.  The  Hindu  ascetics  use  it  to  produce 
illusions.     I  always  find  it  a  capital  soothing  draught 


142 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


J   i 


Ki 


for  nervous   excitement.     I  've  frequently  given  it 
with  the  very  best  results  in  similar  cases." 

He  took  the  glasses  up  on  a  little  tray.  Olga  was 
sitting  still  on  the  couch,  with  her  head  between 
her  hands,  and  her  bosom  heaving  and  falling  visi- 
bly. "Has— Harry  Bickersteth  come  back  yet?" 
she  asked  with  eager  haste.  The  doctor  nodded  a 
sagacious  nod  to  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram. 

"I  told  you  so."  the  nod  seemed  visibly  to  say. 
"She  s  troubling  her  head  about  young  Alan  Ten- 
nant." 

"No,  they  've  not  come  back  yet,"  he  answered 
cheerily,  handing  her  the  glass,  *'but  they're  ex- 
pected home  now  every  minute.  There  's  no  dan- 
ger :  not  the  slightest  danger.  Tide  was  late,  owing 
to  the  surf  on  the  bar.  They  '11  be  back  immediately. 
Here,  drink  the  port.     It 's  very  good  for  you." 

Olga  took  it  and  drained  it  off  mechanically. 
Then  she  buried  her  head  once  more  in  the  sofa 
cushion. 

"Come,  come,"  the  doctor  said,  with  kindly  in- 
sistence. "This  won't  do,  my  dear  young  lady. 
You  must  both  get  to  bed  now,  this  very  minute. 
It's  high  time  you  two  were  fast  asleep  and  snoring. 
Young  people  need  plenty  of  beauty-sleep.  Miss 
Norah,  see  thai  your  friend  goes  to  bed  at  once,  and 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


M3 


doesn't  He  awake  cryincr.  And  you  too.  Vou  shall 
hear  about  your  brother  and  Mr.  7'ennant  the  very 
first  thing  when  you  wake  in  the  morning." 

Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  sat  up  very  late  by  herself 
that  evening,  wondering  when  her  nephew  would 
ever  come  back,  and  full  of  dim  unshaped  forebod- 
ings about  him.  She  wished  she  hadn't  let  him  go 
out  on  the  river  with  Mr.  Alan  Tennant.  What  was 
that  Sir  Donald  had  said  the  day  of  the  picnic  about 
the  second  sight,  and  misfortune  brewing  for  the 
young  oculist.?  She  didn't  believe  in  the  second 
sight  ;  but  still,  one  can't  uclp  feeling  just  a  little  bit 
nervous.  Duck-boats,  she  knew,  were  fearfully  un- 
safe, and  the  branches  of  the  Thore  were  always 
shifty.  She  sat  up  alone  till  long  past  two,  watch- 
ing and  waiting  eagerly  for  Harry's  arrival.  But 
no  Harry  came  at  last,  and  she  was  fain  in  the  end 
to  take  up  her  candlestick  with  a  sinking  heart,  and 
mount  the  lonely  staircase  tremulously  to  her  own 
bedroom. 

As  she  passed  by  Olga's  and  Norah's  door,  she 
heard  the  sound  of  a  voice  or  voices.  Those  naughty 
girls  hadn't  fallen  asleep  yet  !  They  were  still  talk- 
ing.    Had  they  too  waited  and  watched  v.^  there 


( i 


!    I 

i  i 


I    ;' 


144 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


!.  f 

f 


liii 


for  Harry  and  Alan  ?  .  .  .  She  listened  awhile 
on  tiptoe  at  the  lintel.  Her  heart  beat  fast.  A 
voice  was  certainly  speaking— it  was  evidently 
Olga's.  She  caught  the  very  words.  It  said  in 
clear  and  definite  accents, 

"It  was   very  wrong  of  me  I     I  left   off  in  the 

midst  I       I  OUGHT  TO  HAVE  FINISHED  DOING  WHAT  SHE  BID 
ME  !  " 

Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  went  on  relieved.  They 
were  awake,  no  doubt,  but  talking  about  some  quite 
indifferent  matters.  Some  little  dereliction  of  every- 
day duty.  Olga's  voice  was  perfectly  wakeful. 
What  a  pity  the  draught  had  had  so  little  effect  upon 
her. 

But  if  Mrs.  Tristram  could  have  looked  that  mo- 
ment through  the  panels  of  the  door,  she  would 
have  seen  Norah  lying  fascinated  in  her  own  bed, 
and  Olga,  with  wide-staring  eyes  fixed  wildly  upon 
her,  standing  in  her  delicate  white-frilled  night-dress 
b/  *he  rustling  curtains,  and  coiling  in  her  bloodless 
trcn>bling  fingers  that  big  silk  handkerchief— the  In- 
dian roomal  I 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


M5 


CHAPTER  XI. 


AFTER    THE    TEMPEST. 

Next  morning,  Olga  remembered  in  a  dim  way 
that  she   had  slept   very,  very  soundly  :  and  she 
awoke   with    that    painful    weary   feeling    in    the 
muscles  of  the  throat  and  neck  which  often  follows 
a  strong  dose  of  any  powerful   narcotic.     She  was 
sure  Dr.  Hazleby  had  given  her  something  to  make 
her  doze  off:  and  as  she  glanced  askance  at  Norah, 
still  sleeping  heavily  on  her  onn  bed  -there  were 
two  in  the  room— she  felt  certain  that  Norah  too  had 
drunk  something  other  than  wine  in  the  draught  the 
doctor  had  so  carelessly  handed  her. 

She  looked  in  the  glass,  and  saw  there  were  deep 
dark  rings  round  her  big  eyes.  Alan  would  think  her 
quite  plain  to-day.  ...  Had  Alan  come  back  ? 
.  .  .  The  thought,  recurring  slowly,  as  in  a 
dream,  made  all  her  fears  revive  again.  She  felt 
the  drug  hadn't  worn  itself  out  yet,  or  she  would 
have  remembered  him  sooner  !  She  dressed  quickly 
without  waking  Norah. 

lO 


' 


Ifl 


146 


Kaiee's  Shrine. 


fi 


11 


-II 


|H 


"Poor  darling,  "she  thought  ;  '^  she  was  tired  too. 
Let  her  sleep  her  sleep  out.  It  will  do  her  good. 
She  isn't  as  anxious  to  know  about  her  brother, 
of  course,  as  I  am  to  hear  about  dear,  dear 
Alan." 

She  went  downstairs  looking  pale  and  haggard. 

Mrs.  Tristram  rose  to  kiss  her  as  she  entered  the 

breakfast-room. 

''My   dear,"   she   said,     "you're   not    well    this 

morning.     That  horrid  mesmerism  did  you  no  good. 

I  shall  never  allow  you  again,  as  long  as  I  live,  to 
play  such  tricks  with  your  constitution." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  all  right  soon,  thanks,"  Olga 
answered  distractedly,  sitting  down  to  the  table 
and  turning  over  the  envelope  of  a  letter  on  her 
plate  with  careless  fingers.  ''It  tired  me  rather— 
that  was  all.  .  .  .  Have  Harry  Bickersteth  and 
Mr.  Tennant  come  back  home  yet.?  " 

"No,"  Mrs.  Tristram  replied  gravely.  "But 
I'm  not  frightened,  dear.  .  .  .  At  least,  not  very. 
If  anything  serious  had  happened,  wed  surely  have 
heard  it  long  before  this  time.  The  fishermen 
would  have  told  us.  Boys  will  be  boys,  and  will 
get  into  mischief.  They  Ve  gone  up  the  river  and 
got  too  far  or  sor.ething,  and  had  to  stop  the  night 
no  doubt  at  Ponton.     We  shall  have  a  telegram,  I 


ilt 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


147 


fancy,  before  we  've  finished  breakfast.     Is  Norah 
coming  down  ?     How  is  she  this  morning  ? " 
Olga  blushed,   she  knew  not  why.      "No,"  she 

answered  with  incomprehensible  evasiveness.  '-She 
isn't  dressed  yet.  She  .  .  .  she  hasn't  got  up,  in 
fact.  She  s  sleeping  so  soundly.  I  think  .  .  .in 
fact,  I  fancy  ...  Dr.  Hazleby  must  have  given 
us  something  to  make  us  sleep,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Tristram  smiled  a  knowing  smile.  '*So 
he  did,"  she  answered.  ''Indian  hemp.  That's 
what's  making  Norah  so  oversleep  herself." 

Olga  gave  a  faint  little  shudder.  "Indian  hemp  !' 
she  murmured.  ''Always  something  Indian  !  I 
hate  India  and  all  that  belongs  to  it.  It  seems 
somehow  to  be  a  sort  of  fatality  with  me  that  every- 
thing Indian  should  always  bring  some  kind  of  mis- 
fortune." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,"  Mrs.  Tristram  cried  in 
evident  alarm.  -  Please  don't.  You  mustn't  even 
think  it.  Why,  Harry  s  duck-boat— the  boat  they  Ve 
both  gone  up  the  river  in,  you  know— it 's  called  the 
Indum  Princess,  Olga.  Harry  named  it  in  joke  after 
the  little  Maharanee  he  met  last  autumn  down  in 
Norfolk. " 

At  the  word,  Olga  suddenly  dropped  the  knife  and 
fork  with  which  she  was  pretending  to  play  with 


'  /jf  s 


148 


Kalee*s  Shrine. 


I 


i  II 


i 


I  ^ 


i'. 


■  i  f  t 


her  breakfast,  and  stood  staring-  hard  before  her, 
with  the  same  strange  far-away  look  in  her  eyes 
Mrs.  Tristram  had  noticed  the  previous  even 
ing  during  the  whole  of  those  horrid  mesmeric 
experiments.  A  single  word  rose  once  more 
to  her  lips.  She  muttered  it  twice,  —  '*  Kalee  ! 
Kalee  ! " 

At  that  very  moment,  the  door  opened,  and  Sir 
Donald  Mackinnon  entered  unannounced. 

"We  old  Indians  are  inquisitive,"  he  said  gravely, 
with  a  slight  bow,    "  but  I  ve  come  round  early  to 
inquire  this  morning  after  my  friend.  Miss  Norah. 
I   haven't  slept   a   single   wink  to-night,  with  this 
second   sight    of  mine,    thinking   about   her,    Mrs. 
Tristram.     I  've  lain  awake  and  listened  to  the  owls 
hooting,  and  the  waves  breaking,  and  imagined  all 
manner  of  evil  things,  and  fancied  I  could  hear  her 
moaning  and  groaning.      How  is  she  this  morning, 
can  you  tell  me,  Miss  Trevelyan  ?     Not  up  yet,  ah? 
I  hope  there's  nothing  serious  the  matter  with  her. 
.    .    .   Eh .?  what  ?  .    .    .   Why,  what  ails  the  lassie  ? 
You  're  looking  uncommon  pale  and  ill  and  gash 
yourself,  too." 

"Norah 's  asleep,"  Olga  answered,  trembling, 
she  knew  not  why,  and  shrinking  horribly  from  the 
old    man's    keen    and    searching    glance.      *♦  I I 


1    i 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


149 


3re  her, 
er  eyes 
s  even 
esmeric 
J  more 
Kalee  ! 

and  Sir 

ravely, 
;arly  to 
Norah. 
th  this 
■,    Mrs. 
le  owls 
led  all 
ear  her 
)rning, 
3t,  ah  ? 
h  her. 
lassie  ? 
1  gash 

iblingf, 
)m  the 
"I— I 


thought  it  was  best  not  to   wake  her.     She  seemed 
so  very  ill  and  weak  and  tired." 

Sir  Donald  gazed  at  her  coldly  and  sternly. 
"Young  lady,"  he  said  in  a  harsh  voice,  "I'm  think- 
ing it 's  not  all  right  this  morning  with  my  friend, 
Miss  Norah.  Will  you  go  up  and  call  her,  please, 
Mrs.  Tristram.?  There's  mischief,  I'm  afraid,  in 
this  young  lady's  eyes.  We  Highlanders  know  the 
eerie  look  in  them,  and  what  it  portends  in  the  way 
of  evil  !" 

Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram  ran  upstairs  with  vague 
forebodings  of  trouble  in  her  heart.  Olga  followed 
her,  half  unconscious  with  terror,  and  weighed  down 
with  some  awful  burden  of  remorse,— for  what,  she 
knew  not. 

The  room  had  two  little  cretonne-curtained  beds 
in  it.  In  one  of  them,  Olga  had  slept  that  night. 
The  curtains  of  the  other  were  half  drawn,  and 
Norah's  form  was  still  lying,  quite  stiff  and  motion- 
less, beneath  the  dainty  coverlet. 

Olga  approached  softly  on  tiptoe.  "Norah!" 
she  whispered.      "  Darling  Norah  !  " 

A  corner  of  the  sheet  just  covered  her  face.  Norah 
neither  stirred  nor  answered. 

With  gentle  fingers,  Olga  drew  the  bedclothes 
from  her  face  and  neck.     Then  wi'fh  n  f*^qrf„i  oUrW 


H 


I 


I  ! 


i  v. I 


!!•!! 


li 


i  ■' 


■m\i 


150 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


, 


iH 


she  fell  back  and  fainted.  The  shriek  rang  and  vi- 
brated through  the  whole  house.  It  was  a  death- 
like cry  of  unutterable  agony. 

In  a  moment,  the  awful  truth  had  burst  upon  her 
soul.     She  remembered  it  all,  all  quite  clearly  now. 
Norah  was  dead,  and  she  herself  was  her  murderer. 
She  herself  was   her  murderer  :    she  herself— and 
Kalee  ! 

The  cry  roused  the  whole  household  like  a  tocsin. 
Sir  Donald  and  the  servants  hurried  to  the  room. 
They   found   Olga  insensible,    supported    in    Mrs. 
Tristram's  arms,   while  Norah,  stretched   upon  the 
bed,  with  head  thrown  back,  lay  motionless  and  still 
as  a  marble  statue.     Her  pretty   blue   eyes   stood 
wide  open,  fixed  in  a  deathly  stare  on    the   blank 
ceiling ;  the  soft  dimpled  cheeks  showed  white  and 
ashen  ;  and,  most  terrible  of  all,  around  her  smooth 
fair  neck  appeared  in  awful  distinctness  a  dark  blue 
line—the  livid  death-markof  that  fatal  handkerchief. 
For  one  solemn  moment  no  one  stirred  or  spoke 
or  even  breathed  almost.     They  stood  stricken  and 
petrified   at   the  horrid  sight.      Then   Sir  Donald, 
slowly  awaking  as  if  from  a  hideous  dream,  lifted 
the  senseless  Olga  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  off 
to  another  room  unresisting. 

''This  is  a  matter  for  the  police,"  he  said  sternly. 


u  t- 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


151 


"There's   been  murder  done,  and  we   know   who 
did  it." 

He  looked  suspiciously  at  the  little  silver  image 
on  her  neck— the  image  of  Kalee  that  the  fakir  had 
hung  there.  A  dark  red  smear  passed  across  its  face. 
He  gazed  closer.  It  was  blood— blood— blood  on 
her  lips— the  fresh  clotted  blood  of  a  human  victim  ! 

Blood  had  spurted  for  a  moment  from  Norah's 
mouth  in  the  agony  of  the  throttling.  Kalee  that 
night  had  drunk  of  her  sacrifice. 


As  Mrs.  Tristram,  unable  yet  to  realize  the  terri- 
ble truth,  stood  wringing  her  helpless  hands  by 
Norah's  bedside,  a  servant  came  in  with  a  message 
from  the  boatmen. 

"Something  about  Master  Harry,"  she  whispered 
soft  below  her  breath.  "They're  afraid  he's  lost. 
The  boatmen  say  the  Indian  Princess  has  come 
floating  down  the  river  with  the  tide  this  morn- 
ing .  .  .  empty,  quite  empty,  and  bottom  up- 
ward. " 

Mrs.  Tristram  answered  never  a  word.  Her  cup 
was  full  already.  Nothing  else  would  make  much 
difference.  She  merely  stood  and  rocked  herself 
idly  backward  and  forward,  in  the  impotent  reckless- 
ness of  utter  misery. 


i  i 


152 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I  i 


I     I 


m 


li! 


W' 


m 


Next  minute,  Olga  glided  to  her  side.  She  had 
come  back  to  herself,  and  stood  now  erect  and  pale 
and  tremulous  and  beautiful. 

"Send  for  the  police,"  she  said  in  a  stony  tone. 
"I  know  I  did  it.  I  give  myself  up.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  say  for  myself.— Norah  is  dead.  It  was  I 
who  killed  her.— Alan  is  dead.  I  have  heard  the 
message.— I  loved  them  both.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
die.  I  have  nothing  to  live  for.  I  deserve  it !  I 
deserve  it !  " 

Once  more  a  servant  entered  in  hot  haste,  and 
held  a  telegram  which  she  handed  half  hesitatingly 
on  the  salver  to  Olga.  The  girl  dashed  it  aside  with 
an  imperious  wave  of  her  white  hand. 

"Perhaps,"  Mrs.  Tristram  murmured  in  a  low 
voice,  "it  may  be  from  Harry  or  Mr.  Tennant." 

Sir  Donald  opened  it  mechanically  and  read  it 
aloud : 

"  Congratulations,  dear  Olga,  and  best  wishes  for  your  future 
happiness.     You  have  chosen  well. 

"  EVERARD  AND  MaRION  TrEVELVAN." 

It  was  an  Indian  telegram  !  Always  India ! 
What  mockery  it  seemed  at  such  a  moment  ! 
Surely,  surely  Kalee  had  sent  it !  It  was  Kalee's 
appropriate  greeting  to  her  votary. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


153 


CHAPTER   XII. 


AN  AQUATIC    EXCURSION. 

Meanwhile,  where  were   Harry  Bickersteth   and 
Alan  Tennant  ? 

Up  the  river  in  the  India7i  Princess,  they  had  had 
an  easy  voyage,  lazily  paddling  for  the  first  hour  or 
two.  The  mud-banks  of  the  Thore,  ugly  as  they 
seem  at  first  sight,  have  nevertheless  a  singular  and 
unwonted  interest  of  their  own  ;  the  interest  derived 
from  pure  weirdness,  and  melancholy,  and  loneli- 
ness—a strange  contrast  to  the  bustling  life  and 
gayety  of  the  bright  little  watering  place  whose 
church  tower  rises  conspicuously  visible  over  the 
dykes  beyond  them.  On  the  vast  soft  ooze-flats, 
solemn  gulls  stalk  soberly,  upheld  by  their  broad 
web-feet  from  sinking:  while  among  the  number- 
less torrents  caused  by  the  ebbing  tide  tall  long- 
legged  herons  stand  with  arched  necks  and  eager 
eyes,  keenly  intent  on  the  quick  pursuit  of  the  elu- 
sive elves  in  the  stream  below.  The  grass -wrack 
waves  dark  in  the  current  underneath,  and  the  prett" 


\ 


154 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


i 
1    : 

i 

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! 

; 

m 


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sea-lavender  purples  the  muddy  islets  in  the  side 
channels  with  its  scentless  bloom.  Altogether  a 
strange,  quaint,  desolate  spot,  that  Thore  estuary, 
bounded  on  either  side  by  marshy  saltings,  where 
long-horned  black  cattle  wander  unrestrained,  and 
high  en})ankments  keep  out  the  encroaching  sea  at 
floods  and  spring-tides.  Not  a  house  or  a  cottage 
lies  anywhere  in  sight.  Miles  upon  miles  of  slush 
in  the  inundated  channels  give  place  beyond  to 
miles  upon  miles  of  drained  and  reclaimed  marsh- 
land by  the  uninhabited  saltings  in  the  rear. 

They  had  paddled  their  way  quietly  and  noise- 
lessly among  the  flats  and  islets  for  a  couple  of 
hours,  carefully  noting  the  marks  of  the  wary  wild- 
fowl on  either  side,  and  talking  in  low  tones  together 
about  that  perennial  topic  of  living  interest  to  all 
past  or  present  generations  of  Oxford  men,  the  dear 
old  'Varsity.  Alan  still  held  a  fellowship  at  Oriel, 
and  Harry  was  an  undergraduate  of  Queen's  :  so 
the  two  found  plenty  of  matter  to  converse  about  in 
common,  comparing  notes  as  to  the  deeds  of  daring 
in  bearding  the  proctors,  feats  of  prowess  in  town 
and  gown  rows,  the  fatal  obsequiousness  of  the  Ox- 
ford tradesm;in,  and  the  inevitable  final  evolution- 
ary avatar  of  that  mild  being  under  a  new  and  ter- 
rible form  as  the  persistent  dun,  to  the  end  of  their 


i 


: 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


155 


tether.  Such  memories  are  sweet— when  sufficient- 
ly remote  :  and  the  Oxford  man  who  does  not  love 
to  talk  them  over  with  the  rising  spirits  of  a  younger 
generation  deserves  never  to  have  drunk  Archdea- 
con at  Merton  or  to  have  smoked  Bacon's  best 
Manillas  beneath  the  hospitable  rafters  of  Christ 
Church  common  room. 

At  last,  in   turning   up  a  side   streamlet,   on  the 

southern  bank,— Thorborough,  as  everybody  knows, 

lies  to  the  northward,— they  passed  an  islet  of  the 

usual  soft  Thore  slime,  on  whose  tiny  summit  grew 

a  big  bunch  of  that  particular  local  East  Anglian 

wild-flower  which  Olga  had  said  she  would  like  to 

paint,  on  the  day  of  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon's  picnic. 

"I  say,  Bickersteth,"  Alan  suggested  lightly,   as 

they  passed  close  beneath  it :   "don't  you  think  we 

could  manage  to  pick  a  stem  or  two  of  the  artemisia 

—that  feathery  fluffy  yellow   flower  there.?     Miss 

Trevelyan  "—and  he  tried  not  to  look  too  conscious 

— "wants  to  make  a  little  picture  out  of  it,  she  told 

me.     I  expect  we  could  pull  in  and  get  near  enough 

to  clutch  at  a  branch  or  so." 

"No,"  Harry  answered,  shaking  his  head  confi- 
dently. "I  know  by  heart  all  the  tricks  and  man- 
ners of  the  creeks  and  the  river  here.  I  know  every 
twist  and  turn  of  the  backwaters.     No  quicksand 


H 


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156 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


on  earth  could  possibly  be  more  treacherous  than 
our  Thore  mud.     Ii  's  a  mud  per  se,  quite  unique  in 
its  own  way  for  stickiness.     If  you  try  to  land  on 
it,  you  go  on  sinking,  sinking,  sinking,  like  an  ele- 
phant in  a  bog,  or  a  Siberian  mammoth,  till  you  dis- 
appear at  last  bodily  below  the  surface  with  a  gentle 
gurgle  ;  and  the  mud  closes  neatly  over  your  head  ; 
and   they   fish    you    out  a  few   days    later  with   a 
crooked  boat-hook,  as  Mr.  Mantalini  says,   'ademd 
moist  unpleasant  corpse,'  and  dirty  at  that  into  the 
bargain.     You  must  wait  and  get  a  bit  of  the  stuff 
a  little  further  on.     There 's  plenty  more  growing 
higher  up  the  backwater.     We  can  land  easier  there 
on  some  of  the  hards,  where  the  side  creeks  run  deep 
and  clear  over  solid  pebble  bottoms." 

They  paddled  on  noiselessly  through  the  water 
as  before,   away    up    the    silent,  unpeopled    inlet, 
am.ong   the  lonely  ooze  and  great  stranded  islands 
of    salt-marsh    vegetation.     At    every    stroke,   the 
aspect  of  the  country  grew  wilder  and  more  deso- 
late.    At  last  they  came  to  a  broad  expansion  of  the 
tributary  creek.    Alan  could  hardly  have  believed 
any  place  so  solitary  existed  in  England.     Some  of 
the    islands,    surrounded   on    every  side    by  slimy 
channels  of  deep  ooze,  could  only  be  approached  by 
a  boat  at  high  spring-tides,  and  even  then  nowhere 


,  i 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


157 


save  at  a  single  unobtrusive  landing-place.     They 
were  thickly  overgrown  with  rank  brown  hay. 

"And  even  the  owners,"  Harry  said  laughing, 
and  pointing  to  one  such  dreary  flat  with  demon- 
strative finger,  "only  visit  them  once  a  year  in  a 
shallow  punt  or  low  barge  at  hay-making  time  to 
cut  the  hay-crop.  Sometimes  the  bargemen  from 
up  stream  at  Ponton  come  for  a  lark  in  the  night, 
before  the  owner  harvests  it,  and  mow  the  crop, 
and  carry  it  away  down  the  river  and  out  by  sea  to 
market  in  London  ;  and  nobody  ever  knows  a  word 
about  it  till  the  owner  turns  up  disconsolate  a  week 
or  so  later,  and  finds  his  hay  clean  gone,  and  not 
a  soul  en  earth  to  tell  him  what  the  dickens  has  ever 
become  of  it." 

"  It  s  fearfully  lonely,"  Alan  said  with  a  shudder, 
looking  round  him  in  surprise  at  the  trackless  waste 
of  ooze  and  sedges.  "  If  a  man  were  to  get  lost  or 
murdered  in  one  of  these  dreary  channels,  novi^,  it 
might  be  weeks  and  weeks — ay,  and  years  too — 
before  anybody  on  earth  ever  discovered  him." 

"It  might,"  Harry  answered.  "You  say  the 
truth.  A  capital  place  indeed  for  a  murder.  As  De 
Quincey  says,  you  could  recommend  it  confidently 
to  a  friend.  Nobody  'd  ever  be  one  penny  the 
wiser. — See,  there 's  some  more  of  your  flower  nod- 


pii 


158 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


n 


I  j 

I 


ding  away  on  the  bank  over  yonder— what  did  you 
call  it?— artcmisia,  wasn't  it?  Well,  here  we  can 
get  at  it,  I  expect,  with  a  little  trouble,  if  you  don't 
mind  wading.  You  're  prepared  to  go  through  fire 
and  water,  I  suppose,  for  Miss  Trcvelyan  ?  " 

Alan's  face  grew  somewhat  graver.  "I'm  pre- 
pared to  get  my  bags  wet  through  in  the  sea,"  he 
said,  "if  that's  all,  to  do  anything  reasonable,  for 
any  lady.  Miss  Trevelyan  said  she  'd  like  the  flower, 
and  I  thought  I  might  as  well  try  to  get  a  little  bit 
for  her. " 

'MVell,  you  needn't  be  so  huffy  about  it,  anyhow," 
Harry  went  on,  good-humoredly.  "No  harm  in 
being  in  love  with  a  pretty  girl,  that  I  know  of:  at 
least  it  doesn't  say  so  in  the  Ten  Commandments. 
Stick  the  pole  firm  into  the  bottom  there,  will  you? 
By  Jove,  the  stream  runs  fast!  How  deep  is  it? 
About  two  feet,  eh  ?  Well,  we  can  tuck  our  trousers 
up  to  the  thighs  and  wade  ahead  then.  Tlie  chan- 
nel of  the  stream  's  firm  enough  here.  Pebble  bot- 
tom !     I  expect  it 's  pebble  right  up  to  the  island." 

They  pulled  off  their  shoes  and  socks  hurriedly, 
and  rolled  up  their  trousers  as  Harry  had  suggested. 
Then  the  younger  lad  stepped  lightly  out  of  the 
boat  on  to  the  solid  floor,  and  drove  the  pole  deep 
into  the  slimy  mud-bank  beside  it.     The  mud  rose 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


159 


in  a  veritable  cliff,  and  seemed  to  the  eye  quite  firm 
and  consistent;  but  it  -fave  before  the  pole  like  slush 
in  the  street,  where  the  brushes  have  heaped  it  on  one 
side  by  the  -utters.  He  tied  the  duck-bont  to  the 
pole  by  the  painter,  and  gave  a  hand  to  Alan  as  his 
friend  stopj)cd  out  with  a  litrht  foot  into  the  midst  of 
the  little  rapid  channel. 

"Bottom  's  quite  solid  just  here,"  he  said.  "You 
needn't  funk  it.  We  can  walk  close  up  to  the  side 
of  the  island.  These  streams  run  regularly  over 
hard  bottoms,  though  the  mud  rises  sheer  on  either 
side  of  them,  till  you  get  quite  up  to  the  head 
waters.  There  they  lose  themselves,  as  it  were, 
in  the  mud  :  or  at  least,  ooze  out  of  it  by  little 
driblets  from  nowhere  in  particular.  Come  along, 
Tennant.  We  can  pick  some  of  Miss  Trevelyan  s 
specialite  on  the  far  side  of  the  island,  I  fancy." 

They  waded  slowly  up  the  rapid  current,  Alan 
pushing  his  stick  as  he  went  into  the  mud-bank, 
which  looked  as  firm  and  solid  as  a  rock,  but  really 
proved  on  nearer  trial  to  be  made  up  of  deep  soft 
light-brown  slush.  They  attacked  the  island  from 
every  side— a  double  current  ran  right  round  it— 
but  all  in  vain  :  an  impenetrable  barrier  of  oozy  mud 
girt  it  round  unassailably  on  every  side  like  the 
moat  of  a  castle. 


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Kalee's  Shrine. 


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"I  shall  try  to  walk  through  it"  Alan  cried  at 
last  in  a  sort  of  mock  desperation,  planting  one 
foot  boldly  in  the  midst  of  the  mud.  "What's 
slush  and  dirt,  however  thick,  compared  with  the 
expressed  wishes  of  a  fair  lady  ?  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  began  to  sink  ominously  into 
the  soft  deep  ooze,  till  his  leg  was  covered  right 
up  to  the  thigh. 

Harry  seized  his  arm  with  a  nervous  grasp  in 
instant  trepidation.  "For  Heaven's  sake,"  he 
cried,  "what  are  you  doing,  Tennant  ?  The  stuff's 
got  no  bottom  at  all.  Jump,  back,  jump  back- 
here,  take  my  hand  for  it  !  You  '11  sink  right  down 
into  an  endless  mud  slough." 

iVlan  felt  himself  still  sinking  :  but  instead  of 
drawing  back  as  Harry  told  him,  and  letting  his 
whole  weight  fall  on  to  the  one  foot  still  securely 
planted  on  the  solid  bed  of  the  little  river,  he  lifted 
that  one  safe  support  right  off  the  ground,  and  tried 
with  his  stick  to  find  a  foothold  in  the  treacherous 
mud-bank.  Next  instant,  he  had  sunk  with  both 
legs  up  to  his  waist,  and  was  struggling  vainly  to 
recover  his  position  by  grasping  at  the  overhanging 
weeds  on  the  island. 

Harry,  with  wonderful  presence  of  mind,  did  not 
try  at  all  to  save  him  as  he  stood,  lest  both  should 


r ' 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


i6i 


tumble  together  into  the  slough  ;  but  running  back 
hastily  for  the  pole,   fastened  the  boat  to  his  own 
walking-stick  which   he   stuck  into   the    mud,   and 
brought  back  the  longer  piece  of  wood  in  his  hands 
to  -...here  Alan  stood,  still  struggling  violently,  and 
sunk  to  the  armpits   in    the   devouring  slush.     He 
took  his  own  stand  firmly  on  the  pebbly  bottom   of 
the  little  stream,  stuck  the  far  end  of  the  pole  on 
the  surface  of  the  island,  and  then  lowered  it  to  the 
level  of  Alans  hands,  so  as  to  form  a  sort  of  rude 
extemporized   crane  or  lever.     Alan  clutched  at   it 
quickly  with   eager  grip  ;  and    Harry,  who   was  a 
strong  young  fellow   enough,  gradually  raised   him 
out  of  the  encumbering  mud  by  lifting  the  pole  to 
the   height   of  his   shoulders.     Next   minute,    Alan 
stood  beside  him  on  the  hard,  and  looked  ruefully 
down  at  his  wet  and  dripping  muddy  clothes,  one 

malodorous  mass  of  deep  black  ooze  from    waist    to 
ankle. 

"You  must  stand  up  to  your  arms  in  the 
stream,"  Harry  said  laughing,  in  answer  to  his 
comically  rueful  glance,  -and  let  the  water  wash 
away  the  mud  a  little.  A  pretty  pickle  you  look,  to 
be  sure.  By  George,  I  thought  for  a  minute  it  was 
all  up  with  you  !  You  won't  trifle  with  Thore  ooze 
again  in  a  hurry,  1  fancy." 
II 


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162 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


Alan  pulled  off  his  flannel  boating  jacket  and  his 
once  white  ducks  with  a  gesture  of  disgust,  and 
began  scrubbing  them  between  his  hands  in  the 
discolored  water. 

"  I  must  sit  on  the  island  and  let  them  dry,"  he 
said  in  no  very  pleasant  voice,  "I  can't  go  home 
to  Thorborough  looking  such  a  mess  as  this,  you 
know,  Harry." 

"How '11  you  get  on  the  island.?"  Harry  asked 
incredulously. 

"Why,  you  just  hold  the  pole  as  you  did,  so,  and 
I  '11  go  hand  over  hand,  like  a  British  acrobat  on 
parallel  bars,  across  the  mud-bank." 

"And  leave  me  to  stand  here  in  the  water  alone 
till  your  clothes  have  dried  to  your  perfect  satisfac- 
tion !  No  thank  you,  no  thank  you,  my  dear 
fellow." 

"  I  can  get  you  over  when  once  I  've  got  across, 
myself,"  Alan  answered  lightly.  "Hold  the  pole 
out  a  little  below  the  middle,  and  lift  you,  so,  as  if 
I  were  a  circus  man." 

"I  venture  to  doubt  your  gym.nastic  capabili- 
♦I'es  " 

"  Try  me,  anyhow.  If  it  doesn  't  succeed,  I  '11 
come  back  at  once  to  you." 

Harry  fixed   the  pole  on    the  island   once  more, 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


163 


aiK 

1  his 

St, 

and 

in 

the 

iry, 

"he 

)  h 

ome 

lis, 

you 

and  Alan,  clasping  it  tight  with  his  hard  grip,  and 
lifting  up  his  legs  well   above  the  mud-bank,  made 
his  way,  hand  over  hand,  as  acrobats  do  along  a 
tight  rope  or  a  trapeze,  to  the  solid  surface  of  the 
little  island.     There  he  laid  out  his  clothes  care- 
fully to   dry,  and  ,at  down,  holding  the  pole  as  he 
had  suggested,   lever  fashion,  for  Harry.     By  dex- 
terous   twisting,    he    managed    to   land   his    friend 
safely  on  the  island,  where  they  both  sat  down  on 
the  sun-dried  top,   and  gazed  disconsolate   on  the 
fearful  waste  of  mud  arounri  them. 

"Curious  how  hard  the  bottom  is,"  Alan  said 
after  a  while,  -in  the  midst  of  so  much  soft  ooze 
and  slush  and  stuff!  " 

"The  currrent  washes  away  the  soft  mud,  you 
see,"  Harry  answered  glibly,  as  he  lighte-',  his  pipe, 
^'leaving  only  the  pebbles  it  selects  at  the  bottom.' 
Segregation  !  segregation  !  It  s  always  so  over  all 
these  flats.  You  can  walk  anywhere  on  the  bottom 
of  these  streamlets." 

"Well,  at  least,"  Alan  said,  glancing  about  him 
complacently,  "we  've  got  the  flowers— any  number 
we  want  of  them.  I  should  have  felt  like  a  fool 
indeed  if  I  'd  sunk  up  to  my  waist  in  that  beastly 
ooze  there,  and  yet  never  succeeded  in  getting 
what  I  came  for.     The  flowers  alone  are  the  trophy 


1 64 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


ri 


I' 


IM 


of  victory.  It 's  a  foreign  artemlsia,  got  stranded 
here  by  accident.  Indian  Wormwood  or  Lover's 
Bane  the  herbalists  call  it."  And  he  gathered  a  big 
bunch  of  the  yellow  blossoms  from  the  summit  of 
the  island,  tying  them  together  loosely  with  a  shred 
from  his  handkerchief  (Men  in  love  think  nothing, 
it  may  be  parenthetically  observed,  of  tearing  up  a 
new  cambric  handkerchief.  At  a  later  date,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  the  person  for  whose  sake  they  tear  it  up 
takes  good  care  to  repress  any  future  outbursts  of 
such  absurd  extravagance.) 

They  sat  on  the  island  for  nearly  an  hour,  and 
then,  as  the  sun  was  shining  hot  overhead,  Alan's 
clothes  were  sufficiently  dried  for  him  to  put  them 
on  again  in  a  somewhat  dingy,  damp,  and  clinging 
condition.  The  problem  now  was  to  get  back 
again.  Alan  successfully  lifted  down  his  friend  at 
the  end  of  the  pole,  in  true  acrobat  fashion  :  but 
just  as  Harry  touched  ground  in  the  centre  of  the 
little  stream,  the  pole  creaked  and  gave  ominously 
in  the  middle. 

"Take  care  of  it,  Tennant,"  the  young  man 
cried,  as  he  fixed  it  once  more  across  his  shoulder. 
"Don't  trust  the  weak  point  in  the  middle  too 
much.  Glide  lightly  over  the  thin  ice  !  Hand  over 
hand  as  quick  as  you  can  manage  !  " 


tranded 
Lover's 
id  a  big 
nmit  of 
a  shred 
othing, 
ig  up  a 
it  is  to 
ar  it  up 
irsts  of 

ir,  and 
Alan's 
t  them 
inging 
t  back 
end  at 
1  :  but 
of  the 
iiously 

f  man 

)ulder. 
[e  too 
d  over 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


165 


"All  right,"  Alan  cried,  suiting  the  deed  to  the 
word,  and  hastily  letting  himself  glide  with  a  rapid 
sliding  motion  along  the  frail  support. 

As  he  reached  the  middle,  with  a  sudden  snap, 
the  pole  broke.  Alan  did  not  hesitate  for  a  minute. 
If  he  fell  where  he  was,  he  would  sink  helplessly 
into  the  engulfing  mud.  He  had  had  enough  of 
that,  and  knew  what  it  m^eant  now.  With  the  im- 
petus of  the  breakage,  he  sprang  dexterously  for- 
ward, and  just  clearing  the  mud,  fell  on  his  hands 
and  knees  upon  the  hard,  right  in  front  of  Harry. 

"Hurt  yourself,  eh?"  his  friend  asked,  picking 
him  up  quickly. 

"Not  much,"  Alan  answered,  flinging  the  broken 
pole  angrily  into  the  stream.  "Barked  my  knees 
a  little  :  that 's  about  all.  We  're  unfortunate  to  day. 
The  stars  are  against  us.  There 's  a  trifle  too  much 
adventure  to  suit  my  taste,  it  strikes  me  somehow, 
in  your  East  Anglian  rivers  !  " 

"Here  's  a  nice  fellow  !  "  Harry  retorted,  laugh- 
ing. "Adventures  are  to  the  adventurous,  don't 
they  say.  You  first  go  and  try  a  mad  plan  to 
pick  a  useless  little  bunch  of  fluffy  small  flowers 
for  a  fair  lady,  quite  in  the  most  approved  romantic 
fashion,  for  all  the  world  like  the  London  Reader  ; 
and  then  when  vou  fall  anH  hnrV   Tronr  i'"^ 


•••    V3    W  V  X^l. 


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Kalee's  Shrine. 


it,  you  lay  the  blame  of  your  own  mishaps  on  our 
poor  unoffending  East  Anglian  rivers  !  " 

"I've  got  the  flowers  still,  anyhow,"  Alan  an- 
swered triumphantly,  holding  them  up  and  waving 
them  above  his  head,  crushed  and  dripping,  but 
nevertheless  perfectly  intact,  in  his  bleeding  hand. 
He  had  knocked  his  fist  against  the  bottom  to  break 
his  fall,  and  cut  the  skin  rather  badly  about  the 
wrist  and  knuckles. 

"  Well,  it 's  high  time  we  got  back  to  the  boat," 
Harry  continued  carelessly.  "If  we  don't  make 
haste,  we  shan't  be  back  soon  enough  for  me  to 
dress  for  dinner.  I  must  get  home  before  seven. 
Aunt 's  got  the  usual  select  dinner-party  stirring  this 
evening." 

They  turned  the  corner,  wading  still,  but  through 
much  deeper  water  than  that  they  had  at  first  en- 
countered (for  the  tide  was  now  steadily  rising), 
and  made  their  way  to  the  well-remembered  spot 
where  they  had  loosely  fastened  the  light  duck- 
boat. 

To  their  annoyance  and  surprise,  no  boat  was 
anywhere  to  be  seen  in  the  neighborhood.  Only 
a  mark  as  of  a  pole  dragged  by  main  force  out  of 
the  mud,— the  mark  left  by  Harry's  walking- 
stick. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


167 


s  on  our 

Uan  an- 
vvaving 
ing,  but 
ig  hand, 
to  break 
out   the 

e  boat," 
t    make 
r  me  to 
seven, 
ing  this 

:hrough 
[irst  en- 
rising), 
ed  spot 
t  duck- 


They  gazed  at  one  another  blankly  for  a  moment. 
Then  Alan  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"Talk  about  adventures,"  he  said;  "they'll 
certainly  never  be  ended  to-day.  The  duck-boat 
must  have  floated  off  on  its  own  account  quietly 
without  us." 

But  Harry,  instead  of  laughing,  turned  deadly 
pale.  He  knew  the  river  better  than  his  com- 
panion, and  realized  at  oncc  the  full  terror  of  the 
situation. 

"Tennant,"  he  cried,  clutching  his  friend's  arm 
nervously  and  eagerly  ;  "  we 're  lost .?  we're  lost! 
The  duck-boat  has  floated  off  without  us  :  there  's 
no  getting  away,  no  getting  away  anyhow  !  No 
living  power  on  earth  can  possibly  save  us  from 
drowning  by  inches  as  the  tide  rises  I  " 


iBl 


II 


;i 


at  was 

Only 

out  of 

aiking- 


i68 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


LOST. 


f     i 


■f  i 


Alan  stared  at  his  friend  in  blank  dismay.  It  was 
some  time  before  he  could  fully  take  in  the  real 
seriousness  of  their  present  position.  But  he  knew 
Harry  was  no  coward,  and  he  could  see  by  his 
blanched  cheek  and  bloodless  lips  that  a  terrible 
danger  actually  environed  them. 

"  Where 's  she  gone  ?"  he  asked  at  last  tremulously. 

Harry  screened  his  eyes  from  the  sun  with  his 
hands. 

''Down  stream,  at  first,"  he  said,  peering  about 
in  vain,  ''till  tide  rose  high  enough;  then  up,  no 
doubt,  heaven  knows  where,  but  out  of  sight,  out 
of  sight  anyhow  !  " 

Alan  examined  the  bank  closely.  He  saw  in  a 
moment  how  the  accident  had  happened.  Harry, 
in  his  haste  to  fetch  the  pole  to  save  him,  had  driven 
his  own  walking-stick  carelessly  into  the  larger  and 
looser  hole  left  by  the  bigger  piece  of  wood  ;  and  the 
force  of  the  current,  dragging  at  the  boat,  liad  pulled 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


169 


It  was 

the  real 

he  knew 

e  by   his 

I  terrible 

uilously. 
with  his 

ig  about 
n  up,  no 
ight,  out 

aw  in  a 
Harry, 
d  driven 
rger  and 
and  the 
id  pulled 


it  slowly  out  of  the  unresisting  mud-bank.  It  might 
have  been  gone  a  full  hour :  and  where  it  had  got 
to,  no  earthly  power  could  possibly  tell  them. 

"  Can't  we  swim  out  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly  at  last. 
"You  and  I  are  both  tolerable  swimmers." 

Harry  shook  his  head  very  gloomily.  "  No  good," 
he  said.  "  No  good  at  all,  I  tell  you.  The  river  s 
bounded  by  mud  for  acres.  It 's  six  miles  at  least 
down  to  Hurdham  Pier,  the  very  first  place  there  's 
a  chance  of  landing.  If  you  tried  to  land  anywhere 
else  before,  you'd  sink  in  mud  like  the  mud  you  stuck 
in  just  now  at  the  island.  We  're  bounded  round  by 
mud  on  every  side.  We  stand  on  a  little  narrow  shelf 
of  pebble,  with  a  vastswampy  quagmire  of  mud  gird- 
ing it  in  for  miles  and  miles  and  miles  together." 

** Can't  we  walk  up  to  the  source.?"  Alan  en- 
quired despondently,  beginning  to  realize  the  full 
terror  of  the  situation.  ''It  may  keep  hard  till  we 
reach  terra  firma  ?  " 

"It  may,  but  it  doesn't,  I'm  pretty  sure,"  Harry 
answered  with  a  groan.  "However,  there's  no 
harm  anyhow  in  trying.  Let's  walk  up  and  see 
where  we  get  to.' 

They  waded  on  in  silence  together,  feeling  the 
bottom  cautiously  at  each  step  with  their  sticks, 
till  the  stream  began  to  divide  and  sub-divide  IntQ 


170 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


i-i 


little  finger-liko  muddy  tributaries.     Choosing    the 
chief  of  these,    they  waded    up  it.     Presently   the 
bottom  grew  softer  and  softer,  and  a  firm  footing 
more  and  more  impossible.     At  last,  their  feet  sank 
in  ominously.      Harry  probed  a  step  in  advance  with 
the  broken  end  of  the  pole  that  Alan  had  (lui.g  away. 
The  next  step  was  into  the  muddy  quagmire.     Land 
still  lay  a  mile  distant  apparently  in   that  direction. 
The  intervening  belt  was  one  huge  waste  expanse 
of  liquid  treachery. 

They  tried  again  up  another  tributary,  and  then 
a  third,  and  a  fourth,  and  so  on  throuf-h  all  the  ra- 
diating minor  streamlets,  but  still  ahvays  with  the 
same  disheartening  result.  There  was  no  rest  for  the 
sole  of  their  foot  anywhere.  Above,  the  o^.^eams  all 
ended  in  mud  ;  below,  they  slowly  deepened  to  the 
tidal  river.  A  few  hundred  yards  of  intervening 
solid  bottom  alone  provided  them  with  a  lirm  foott 
hold. 

''I  wish  to  goodness,"  Alan  cried  petulantly, 
''we'd  never  got  out  of  that  confounded  duck^ 
boat  !  " 

"It's  too  late  wishing  now,"  Harry  murmured 
half  to  himself,  with  a  remorseful  glance  at  the  ill- 
omened  flowers.  -We've  got  to  face  the  very 
worst.     The  tide 's  rising^.     It  rises  above  the  level 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


171 


of  the  mud.  Not  enough  for  us  to  swim  in,  though. 
We'll  have  to  stand  here  as  well  as  w  Ccdi  on  the 
hard  till  we  can  stand  no  more,  and  then  swim  or 
float  for  dear  life  as  far  as  our  strength  or  chance 
will  carry  us." 

Alan  bit  his  lip  in  utter  despair.  He  had  but  ojie 
thought  now.  That  thought  was  for  Olga.  Olga 
would  miss  them  !  Olga  would  be  fright-ned  ! 
Should  he  try  the  riskiest  course  of  all,  and  swim  if 
possible  the  long  six  miles  to  the  pier  at  Hurdham.? 
No,  no.  That  after  ah  would  he  sheer  suicide. 
Better  hang  or  to  the  last  wild  chance  at  all  I  /ards, 
and  wait  for  the  possible  approach  up  stream  of  a 
barge  or  row-boat. 

He  took  out  his  watch.  It  was  half-past  six. 
They  were  going  upstaii  s  to  dress  for  dinner  now  at 
the  Tristram's  at  Thorboroueh. 

"Couldn't  we  manage  to  get  back  on  top  (  the 
island?"  he  said  at  last.  "We  might  wait  ei 
then  for  almost  any  length  of  time,  till  we  could 
signal  with  a  handkor  hief  to  some  passing  eel-boat. 
That'd  be  better  at  ieast  'han  waiting  here  in  the 
middle  of  the  channel  till  the  tide  rises." 

Harry  shook  his  head  with  almost  sullen  despair. 
"No,  no,"  he  cried.  'Impossible,  impossible! 
You  know  how^  sticky  you  found  the  mud,     With-- 


h 


: 


^PP 


172 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I'  i\ 


^1^ 


out  the  pole  we   could  never  by  any  chance  get 
there.     We  'd  only  sink  over  head  and  ears  in  that 
devilish   slush.     You  don't  know  the  ways   of  the 
Thore   as    well  as    I   do.     Sinking   in  water's  bad 
enough,  but  sinking  in  mud's  ten  thousand  times 
more  terrible.     It  clogs  you  and  hampers  you  on 
every  side.     Struggling  or  swimming  only  makes 
things  worse.     You  go  down  in  it  helplessly,  suf- 
focating as  you  go,  and  there  isn't  a  chance  of  re- 
covering even  your  dead  body.     If  we  drown  in 
peace  and  let  the  tide  drift  us  afterwards  down  the 
river,  they'll   bury   us   decently   anyhow  at   Thor- 
borough." 

Alan  went  back  once  more  to  the  neighborhood 
of  the   island.       He    scanned   it   eagerly   now   all 
around.     It  was  no  longer  a  question  of  getting  a 
handful  of  pretty  tiowers  for  Olga-it  was  a  pressing 
urgent  life-and-death  necessity.     But  the   more  he 
looked  at  it,   the  more  utterly  imp.)ssible  and  im- 
practicable it  seemed.     Only  seven  or  eight  feet  of 
light-brown  mud  separated  them  with  its  gap  from 
that  haven  of  refuge ;  and  yet  the  seven  or  eight  feet 
proved  a  greater  barrier  than  miles  and  miles  of  land 
or  water   could  ever  have   done.     Water  you  can 
swim  through,  land  you  can  walk  over,  but  mud  is 
absolutely  and  utterly  impassable. 


!■■   i 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


173 


nee  get 
i  in  that 
i  of  the 
?r's  bad 
d  times 
you  on 
makes 
ily,  suf- 
e  of  re- 
own  in 
>vvn  the 
;   Thor- 

orhood 
ovv   all 
tting  a 
ressing 
ore  he 
iid  im- 
feet  of 
p  from 
ht  feet 
)f  land 
u  can 
nud  is 


He  returned  to  where  Harry  sat  crouching  in  the 
stream,  hugging  his  knees,  and  gazing  blankly  and 
wildly  straight  in  front  of  him. 

"Sit  down,"  Harry  said:  "this  is  the  highest 
point.  The  water  here  perhaps  may  not  rise  above 
our  heads.  But  we  '11  have  to  wait  and  let  it  rise 
slowly.  You  must  sit  as  long  as  you  can,  till  tide 
reaches  about  to  your  neck.  Then  kneel  ;  and  after 
that,  stand  up  and  face  it.  The  water  rises  warm 
over  these  basking  shallows.  If  it  lay  cold,  it  would 
be  much  worse  for  us.  We  shall  hold  out  now  for 
about  six  hours.  If  a  boat  comes  by,  well  and 
good.     If  not " 

He  threw  his  head  back  significantly,  and  closed 
his  eyes,  gurgling  low  with  his  throat  in  a  speaking 
pantomime. 

Alan  thought  only  of  Olga. 

They  sat  there  silent  in  the  running  water,  hug- 
ging their  knees,  for  twenty  minutes.  Then  Harry 
took  his  handkerchief  slowly  from  his  pocket,  and 
tied  it  to  the  broken  end  of  the  pole. 

"We  must  hold  this  up,  turn  about,"  he  said. 
"  Perhaps  some  boat  may  pass  and  see  it." 

For  many  minutes,  neither  spoke  again.  Then 
Alan  said  once  more,  "  Hadn't  we  better  try  swim-. 

.v.: 3" 


174 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I 


I 


"No,"  Harry  answered.  -For-our  friends'  sake 
-no.  Let  us  wait  on  the  chance.  If  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,  at  last,  we  can  swim  for  dear 
life.  But  hold  on  to  the  hard  as  long  as  it  serves 
you." 

"Ah,  but  then  we  shall  be  gradually  chilled  and 
powerless.  If  we  swin,  now,  we  mifjht  manage  to 
keep  up  for  dear  life-and  for  what  s  dearer  than  life 
—till  we  reached  Hurdham." 

"Impossible,"  Harry  answered  with  a  shake  of 
his  head.     ••  Tide  s  against  us  by  this  time.     If  we 
swam   up,  as   tide   now   runs,   we  should  only  be 
landed  on  worse  mud-banks  in  the  Ponton  direction 
Wait  till  midnight-the  turn  s  at  midnight.     Then 
we   might   manage  to   float    on    our    backs,    with 
tide  n.  our  favor,   and  high   water  too,   to  one  of 
the  firmer  islands  a  little  way  down  towards  Thor- 
borough.    At  high  tide,  some  of  them  are  approach- 
able. " 

"Till  midnight !  "  Alan  cried.  "  My  dear  fellow, 
do  you  mean  to  say  we  must  stop  here  till  mid- 
night? All  in  the  dark,  and  with  the  water  rising 
everywhere  around  us  ?  Oh,  Harry,  Harry,  I  'd  ten 
thousand  times  rather  swim  for  it  at  once  and  face 
it  anyhow  !  " 

Harry  seized  his  arm  impressively,     "It's  your 


[^ 


ij  n 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


175 


■■»>  >i 


I 


one  chance,  Tennant,"  he  said  in  a  low  firm  voice. 
"Wait!     ...     For  Olga  !  " 

In  a  moment  Alan  noticed  the  strangeness  of  the 
tone. 

"  For  Olga  ?"  he  cried.    "  For  Olga  .?    For  Olga?" 
"Yes,"  Harry  answered,   almost  bitterly.      "Do 
you  think  I'm  thinking  only  of  myself.?     What  a 
coward  you   must  .^ncy  me .?     We   young  fellows 
always  fall  in  love,  they  say,  with  girls  older  than 
ourselves.     And  do   you  think  I  haven't   fallen  in 
love  with  Olga  Trevelyan  .?     How  could  I  help  it? 
Who  could  help  it  ?     As  much  as  you  have,  I  tell 
you,  Tennant :  every  bit  as  much  as  you  have.     For 
her  sake,  you've  got  to  get  baci: ;  and  for  her  sake 
I  've  got  to  help  you.     What  s  the  use  of  making 
secrets  between  us  now?     I  know  you  love  her.     I 
know  she  loves  you.     If  you  don't  come  back,  it  '11 
break  her  heart.     She  's  got  a  heart  of  the  kind  that 's 
given  to  breaking.     Well,  I  love  her  too.     I  know 
I  'm  a  young  fellow,  and  I  know  I  shall  get  over  it. 
In  the  end,  I  shall  do  like  all  the  rest  of  us,  marry 
some   other  girl  younger  than   myself,  and  try  to 
fancy  she  's  as  good  and  as  pure  and  as  beautiful  as 
Olga.     But  while  it  lasts,  it 's  as  real  to  me  as  it  is  to 
you,  I  tell   you,  Tennant.     It 's  Olga  who  's  got  us 
both  into  this  scrape.     If  I  hadn't  aided  and  abetted 


nil 


JtMii' 


1/6 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


m 

■■J 


f  i ' 


you  this   afternoon,  you  wouldn't  have  got  on  the 
island  there,  to  pick  the  bunch  of  flowers  for  Olga. 
I  helped  you,  because  I  knew  she  'd  be  pleased  that 
you  'd  got  them  for  her,  and  that  you  'd  taken  a  little 
trouble  to  g-et  them-and  risked  a  little  danger  into 
the  bargain.     And  now  we  Ve  both  got  to  get  you 
back  to  Olga.     Never  mind  about  me  :  that  doesn't 
matter.     You  're  taller  than  me  :    you  can  overtop 
the  water  a  good  half-hour  longer.     If  I  get  drowned, 
you   can  take  my  body,  and  put  it   on  the  mud  by 
the  island  yonder,  and  use  it  as  a  stepping-stone  to 
get  across  upon.     I  expect  it  'd  bear  you  up  for  a 
minute;  enough  to  jump  safe  on  to  the  top  of  the 
island.     Somebody's  sure  to  be  up  here  with  a  boat 
within  the  next  day  or  two.     You  could  hold  out  for 
two  or  three  days  even  without  food,  on  top  of  the 
island,  and  then  you  could  get  back  home  at  last- 
to  Olga." 

Alan  could  answer  nothing  in  return.  The  tears 
stood  thick  in  his  eyes.  He  took  the  young  fellow's 
hand  in  his  and  wrung  it  in  silence  with  a  long  hard 
grip. 

"Harry,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  choking  voice, 
'  •  you  're  a  splendid  fellow.  If  we  Ve  got  to  die  we 
shall  die  together.  Nor  even  for  her,  not  even  for 
her  could  I  ever  desert  you.     Let 's  tie  the  flowers 


f" 


i, 


r 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


177 


around  our  waists.     Then  if  we  die,  Olga  '11  knovy 
we  died  at  any  rate  for  her  sake." 

"No,"  Harry  murmured  in  a  low  soft  voice. 
"  Let's  throw  them  away  :  far,  far  away  from  us. 
Then  if  we  die,  Olga  '11  have  nothing  at  all  in  future 
to  reproach  herself  with.  She  '11  think  we  died  up 
the  creeks  and  backwaters  looking  after  the  wild- 
fowl shooting  for  our  own  pleasure.'* 

Alan  answered  never  a  word.  But  he  felt  in  his 
heart  that  the  young  man's  thought  was  the  truest 
and  noblest.  He  flung  the  bunch  far  from  him  into 
the  middle  of  the  stream.  The  rising  tide  brought 
it  back  to  his  hands,  and  then  carried  it  vaguely  up 
on  its  fl^x>d  among  the  fiats  behind  them. 


12 


i 

if 


u 


i    • 


f! 


178 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SUSPENSE. 

The  water  had  now  risen  up  to  their  waists  as 
they  sat  dripping  in  the  middle  current.  They 
shifted  their  position,  and  took  to  kneeling.  The 
shades  began  to  fall  slowly  over  the  land.  The  stars 
came  out  overhead  one  by  one.  The  gulls  and  rooks 
retired  in  slow  procession  from  the  purple  mud- 
flats :  the  herons  rose  on  flapping  wings  from  fish- 
ing in  the  streams,  and  stretched  their  long  necks, 
free  and  full,  homeward  towards  the  heronry. 

Nothing   on  earth  could   have  seemed  more  aw- 
some  in   its  ghastly  loneliness  than  that  wide  ex- 
panse    under    the    gathering    shades    of    autumn 
twilight.     The  water  rose  slowly,   slowly,  slowly, 
slowly.     Inch  by  inch  it  gained  stealthily  but  stead- 
ily upon  them.     It  reached  up  to  their  waists,    to 
their  sides,    to    their   breasts,    to    their   shoulders. 
Very  soon  they  would  have  to  cease  kneeling,  and 
take  to  the  final  standing  position.      And  after  that 
^the  deluge ! 


Kalee's  Slirine, 


179 


aists  as 
They 
r.  The 
he  stars 
d  rooks 
3  mud- 
m  fish- 
necks, 

re  aw- 
de  ex- 
utumn 
[ovvly, 
stead- 
its,    to 
ilders. 
I,  and 
;r  that 


Bats  began  to  hawk  for  moths  in  number  over 
the  mud-flats.  A  great  white  owl  hooted  from 
the  open  sky  above.  Now  and  again,  the  scream  of 
the  sea-swallows,  themselves  invisible,  broke  sud- 
denly from  the  upper  air.  Even  the  clang  of  the 
hours  from  the  Thorborough  church  tower  floated 
faintly  across  the  desolate  saltings  to  the  place 
where  they  waited  for  slowly-coming  death. 

"  I  should  like  one  pipe  before  I  die,"  Harry 
said  stoically,  feeling  in  his  pockets  for  a  box  of 
matches.  **  You  haven't  got  such  a  thing  as  a  light 
about  you,  have  you,  Tennant.?  " 

''I've  got  a  flint  and  steel,"  Alan  answered,  pull- 
ing it  out,  *'  but  I  'm  afraid  it 's  wet  with  the  mud  by 
the  island." 

He  opened  the  box.  To  Harry's  surprise  and 
delight,  the  tinder  within — a  long  coil  of  yellow 
wick — was  dry  and  untouched,  preserved  from 
harm  by  the  metal  covering. 

"This  is  better  than  a  match,"  he  cried  with  new 
hope.  "It's  better  than  a  pipe,  Tennant.  It's  a 
signal  :  a  signal !  Keep  the  tinder  alight,  and  hoist 
it  on  a  pole,  and  perhaps  it  '11  attract  some  one  of 
the  mud-anglers." 

"Who  are  the  mud-anglers  ?  "  Alan  asked  shiv- 
ering. 


I  :^ 


i8o 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I  i 


"Men  who  come  out  fishing  for  eels  in  the 
streams  as  the  tide  rises,"  Harry  answered,  fired 
with  fresh  expectation.  "They  walk  across  the 
mud,  with  a  lantern  in  their  hands,  and  catch  eels 
in  the  tidal  channels." 

"  Walk  on  the  mud  !  "  Alan  cried.  "But  how 
can  they  ?  How  can  they  ?  And  if  they  can,  why 
can't  we  too,  Harry  .?  " 

Harry  waved  his  hand  a  little  impatiently. 
"They  walk  with  mud-shoes, "he   answered  with 
a  slight  cough.      "  Alud-shoes  are  thin  flat  pieces  of 
board,   turned  up  at  the  end   and  strapped  on   the 
foot,    like  small    boats  ;    and  they  glide  on    them 
across   the  mud    as  people  glide  with  snow-shoes 
over  the  snow  in  Canada.     In  shape  they  're  very 
much  like  the  toboggans  we  used  to  slide  on  when 
I  was  a  boy  down  the  hills  at  Halifax.     You  've  seen 
pictures  of  toboggans  in  the  papers,   haven't  you? 
Well,  that 's  a  mud-shoe  :  and  the  mud-anglers  wear 
them.       There  are  pretty  sure  to    be    mud-anglers 
about  to-night,  and  this  light   might  possibly   hap- 
pen  to  attract  one." 

As  he  spoke,  he  tore  a  shred  from  his  handker- 
chief, and  with  it  fastened  the  smouldering  wick  to 
the  broken  pole.  Below  the  sparks  of  light  thus  pre- 
cariously   obtained,    he  tied  the  remainder  of  the 


f 


s  in  the 
ed,  fired 
OSS  the 
itch  eels 

3ut  how 
in,  why 


ed  with 
ieces  of 
on   the 
1   them 
v-shoes 
re  very 
1  when 
ve  seen 
t  you? 
s  wear 
anglers 
f   hap- 

ndker- 
inck  to 
LIS  pre- 
Df  the 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


i8i 


handkerchief  itself  The  wick  lighted  it  up  with  a 
faint  illumination,  and  together  they  served  to  form 
a  slight  danger-signal,  sufficient  to  take  the  atten- 
tion of  a  passing  mud-angler,  if  any  should  chance 
to  come  within  sight  of  the  feeble  illuminant. 

The  evening  fell  darker  and  darker.  The  tide 
rose  slowly,  remorselessly.  The  mud-flats  ceased 
to  glimmer  faintly  with  the  long  reflection  of  the 
twilight  afterglow.  All  was  silent  and  black  and 
invisible,  save  for  the  shrill  cry  of  the  bats  as  they 
swooped  overhead,  and  the  tiny  glow  of  the 
saltpetre  tinder-wick  on  the  flapping  handker- 
chief. 

The  water  compelled  them  now  to  stand.  Arm- 
in-arm  they  stood  before  it,  facing  together  that 
crawling,  slow,  resistless  enemy.  If  it  had  been 
waves  to  buffet  and  overcome,  however  fierce,  even 
that  would  have  been  better.  One  would  have  felt 
then  one  was  at  least  fighting  them.  But  the  utter 
sense  of  helplessness  and  impotence  in  face  of  that 
quiet,  noiseless  creeping  flood  was  too  appalling. 
Harry's  teeth  began  to  chatter  with  cold.  The  long 
immersion,  even  in  that  sun-warmed  water,  was 
gradually  telling  upon  him.  His  limbs  were  stiff, 
and  his  blood  coursed  slowly. 

They  passed  the  pipe  silently  from  one  to  the 


II 


I    1.1 

I  '1 


1 82 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I  I 


ill 


If 


Other,  for  Alan's  last  cigar  was  long  since  finished. 
It  helped  to  warm  and  comfort  them  a  little. 

"Thank  heaven,"  Harry  said  with  real  fervor  as 
he  took  it  once  from  his  friend's  mouth,  "thank 
heaven  for  tobacco. " 

Half-past  eight.      Nine.      Half-past   nine.      The 
bell  clanged  it  out  loudly   from   the    Thorborough 
steeple,  and  the  echoes,  stole  reverberant  with  end- 
less resonance  across  the  lonely  intervening  mud- 
flats.      How   long  the  intervals  seemed  between  ! 
Twenty  times  in  every  half-hour  the  two  young  men 
lowered  the   slowly    smouldering   wick,    and  held 
Harry's  watch  up  to  the  light,  to  read  how  the  min- 
utes went  on  its  dial.       Half-past  nine,   and  now 
breast  high  !      Ten,    eleven,   twelve,    still  to  run  ! 
The  water  would  rise  far  above  their  heads  !      Each 
minute  now  was  an   eternity  of  agony.     Save  for 
Olga's   sake,  they  would  have  taken  to  swimming, 
and  flung  away  the  last  chance  of  life  recklessly. 
It  is  easier  to  swim— and  die  at  once-than  to  stand 
still,   with  the  cruel  cold  water  creeping  slowly  and 
ceaselessly  up  you. 

At  twenty-five  minutes  to  ten,  they  lowered  the 
light  and  looked  once  more.  As  they  did  so,  a 
faint  long  gleam  streaming  along  the  mud-flats 
struck  Harry's  eyes  in  the  far  distance.     The  light 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


183 


inished. 

jrvor  as 
"thank 

.      The 

)o  rough 
ith  end- 
g:  mud- 
tween  ! 
ngmen 
id  held 
le  min- 
d  now 
3  run  ! 
Each 
^ve  for 
iming, 
:lessly. 
>  stand 
ly  and 

2d  the 

so,   a 

d-flats 

5  light 


i 


from  which  it  came  lay  below  their  horizon  ;  but  the 
gleam  itself,  repeated  and  reflected,  hit  the  side  of  the 
bank  opposite  them.  Harry's  quick  senses  jumped 
at  it  in  a  moment. 

"A  mud-angler!  A  mud-angler!"  he  cried  ex- 
citedly, and  waved  the  pole  and  handkerchief  above 
with  a  sudden  access  of  feverish  energy. 

Would  the  mud-angler  see  them  ?  that  was  the 
question.  The  flicker  of  the  wick  was  but  veryslight. 
How  far  off  could  it  possibly  be  visible.?  They 
waved  it  frantically  on  the  bare  chance  of  attracting 
his  attention. 

For  five  minutes  there  was  an  awful  suspense ; 
and  then  Harry  s  accustomed  ear  caught  a  faint  noise 
borne  dimly  across  the  long  low  mud-flats. 

"He 'scorning!  He's  coming!'  he  cried  joy- 
ously. And  then  putting  his  two  hands  to  his 
mouth,  he  burst  into  a  long,  sharp,  shrill  coo-ee. 

"You'll  frighten  him  away!"  Alan  suggested 
anxiously.  "  He  '11  think  it  's  a  ghost  or  something 
like  one." 

But  even  as  he  spoke,  the  gleam  of  a  lantern  struck 
upon  the  mud,  and  the  light  shone  clearer  and  ever 
clearer  before  them. 

"Hallo!"  Harry  cried.  "In  distress  here! 
Help  !  help  !    We  're  drowning  !    We  're  drowning  !  " 


)! 


i84 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


A  man's  voice   answered  from  above.     "Ahoy! 
ahoy  !     Mow  did  yow  git  there  ?  " 

Thank  heaven  !  they  were  saved  !— Or  next  door 
toitl 

The  man  approached  the  cdj^-c  of  the  mud-bank  as 
close  as  he  dare  (for  the  edges  are  very  steep  and 
slippery),  and  turning  his  lantern  full  upon  them, 
stood  looking  at  the  two  half-drowned  men,  as  they 
gasped  up  to  their  breasts  in  water. 

"  How  did  yow  git  there,  I  say  ?  "  he  asked  once 
more  sullenly. 

"Can  you  help  us  out?"  Harry  cried  in  return. 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"Dunno  as  I  can!"  he  answered  with  a  stupid 
grin.  ' '  I  can  't  go  no  nearer  the  edge  nor  this.  It  s 
bad  walking.  Mud  's  deep.  How  did  yow  git 
there?" 

"Waded  up,  and  our  boat  floated  off,"  Harry  cried 
in  despair.  "Can't  you  get  a  rope?  Can't  you 
send  a  boat?  Can't  you  do  anything  anyhow  to 
help  us?" 

The  man  gazed  at  them  with  the  crass  and  vacant 
stupidity  of  the  born  rustic. 

"Dunno  as  I  can,"  he  muttered  once  more. 
"Yow'd  ought  to  a  stuck  to  your  boat,  yow  'ad. 
That's  just  what  yow  'd  ought  to  a  done,  I  take  it." 


Knloc's  Shrine. 


185 


1 


*'  Is  thcr  "  bv>at  anywhere  near?  "  Alan  cried  dis- 
tracted, oiiUln't  you  pat  ly  boat  out  from 
somevvhcri.      >  sjvc  us?  " 

"Tlu  c  ain't  no  boat,"  the  •"  luswercd  slowly 
and  stolidly.  "  T.caslvviiys  none  nearer  nor  Thor- 
borough.  Or  m  dit  'Urdhani.  Tom  Wilkes,  'e 
'ave  a  boat  up  yonder  at  Ponton.  Ikit  that 's  right 
across  t'other  side  o'  the  water."  And  he  gazed  at 
them  still  with  rural  indiflerenco 

"My  friend,"  Alan  cried,  h  a  burst  of  help- 
lessness, "we've  been  here  in  the  water  since  six 
o'clock.  The  tide  's  rising  slowly  around  us.  In  a 
couple  of  hours,  it  "11  rise  above  our  heads.  We  're 
faint  and  cold  and  almost  exhausted.  For  heaven's 
sake  don't  stand  there  idle  :  can't  you  do  something 
to  save  two  fellow-creatures  from  drowning  ? " 

The  man  shook  his  head  imperturbably  once 
more. 

"  I  dunno  as  I  can,"  he  murmured  complacently, 
"  Mud  hereabouts  is  terrible  dangerous.  Yow  'd 
ought  to  'a  stuck  to  your  boat,  yow  know.  There 
ain't  no  landing  anywheres  hereabouts.  If  I  was 
to  give  yow  a  hand,  I  'd  fall  in,  myself.  I  ex- 
pect yow  '11  have  to  stick  there  now  till  yow  're 
right  drownded.  I  can't  git  no  nearer  yow 
nohow. " 


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Kalee's  Shrine. 


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There  was  something  utterly  appalling  and  sick- 
ening in  this  horrible   outcome  of  all  their  hopes. 
The  longed-for  mud-angler  had  arrived  at  last  :  they 
had  caught  his  attention  :  they  were  within  speak- 
ing distance  of  him  :  there  he  stood,  on  the  edge  of 
the   ooze,  lantern    in  hand,   and  wooden  floats  on 
feet,  plainly  visible  before  their  very  eyes  :  yet  for 
any  practical  purpose  of  assistance  or  relief  he  might 
just  as  v/ell  have  been  a  hundred  miles  on  shore 
clean  away  at  a  distance  from  them.     A  stick  or  a 
stone  could  not  have  been  more  utterly  or  horribly 
useless. 

The  man  stood  and  gazed  at  them  still.  If  they 
had  only  allowed  him,  he  would  have  gazed  imper- 
turbably  open-mouthed  till  the  waters  had  risen 
above  their  heads  and  drowned  them.  He  had  the 
blank  stolidity  of  silly  Suffolk  well  developed  in  his 
vacant  features. 

Alan  w^as  seized  with  a  happy  inspiration.  He 
would  use  the  one  obvious  argument  adapted  to  the 
stupid  sordid  soul  of  the  gaping  mud-angler. 

*'Go  back  to  the  shore,"  he  cried,  glaring  at  the 
fellow,  ''and  tell  the  others  we 're  here  drowning. 
Do  as  you're  told.  Don't  delay.  Bring  a  boat  or 
something  at  once  to  save  us.  If  you  do,  you  shall 
have  fifty  pounds.     If  you  don't,  they'll  hnng  you 


III 


i  I  i' 


f 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


187 


nd  sick- 
hopes, 
t  :  they 
speak- 
edge  of 
:)ats  on 
yet  for 
e  might 
1  shore 
ck  or  a 
lorribly 

If  they 
imper- 
1  risen 
lad  the 
i  in  his 

.      He 

to  the 

at  the 
vning. 
oat  or 
i  shall 
^  you 


for  murder.     Fifty  pounds  if  you  save  us,  do  you 
understand   me?     Fifty   pounds   to-morrow    morn- 
ing !  " 
The  man's  lower  jaw  dropped  heavily. 

**  Fifty  pound,"  he  repeated,  with  a  cunning  leer. 

It  was  too  much.  Clearly  he  didn't  believe  it 
possible. 

"Fifty  pounds,"  Alan  reiterated  with  the  energy 
of  despair,  taking  out  his  purse  and  looking  at  its 
contents.  "And  there's  three  pound  ten  on  account 
as  an  earnest." 

He  tied  the  purse  with  all  that  was  in  it  on  to  the 
end  of  the  pole  and  pushed  it  up  to  the  man,  who 
clutched  at  it  eagerly.  Looking  inside,  he  saw  the 
gold,  and  grinned. 

"Fifty  pound  !  "  he  said  with  a  sudden  chuckle. 
"That's  a  powerful  lot  o'  money.  Mister." 

"Go  quick,"  Alan  cried,  "  and  tell  your  friends. 
There's  not  a  moment  to  be  lost,  and  tide  's  rising. 
If  you  can  bring  a  boat  or  do  anything  to  save  us, 
you  shall  have  fifty  pounds,  down  on  the  nail, 
to-morrow  morning.  I'm  a  rich  man,  and  I  can 
promise  to  pay  you." 

The  fellow  turned  doggedly  and  began  to  go. 
Next  moment,  a  nascent  doubt  came  over  him,  and 
clouded  i\is  mind, 


1 88 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


.. 


In 


til 


u 

j,   .. 

n^il 

i  ■■■ 

"How  shall  I  know  where  to  find  yow  ? "  he 
said,  staring  back  once  more,  and  gaping  foolishly. 

"Watch  the  beacons,"  Harry  cried,  taking  up  the 
parable,  "and  mark  which  stream  we're  in  as  well 
as  you  're  able.  Let 's  see.  How  long  shall  you  be 
gone,  do  you  reckon?  " 

"Might  bean  hour,"  the  man  answered,  drawl- 
ing.    ' '  Might  be  two  hours. " 

"The  light  won't  last  so  long,"  Harry  said  anx- 
iously, turning  to  Alan,  "I  say,  my  friend,  can't 
you  leave  us  your  lantern  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head  with  a  gesture  of  dis- 
sent. 

"  Couldn't  find  my  way  back  nohow  without  it," 
he  said,  still  grinning.  "Fifty  pound!  That's  a 
lot  o'  money." 

"Go!"  Alan  cried,  unable  any  longer  to  keep 
down  for  very  prudence'  sake  his  contempt  and 
anger.  "Go  and  tell  your  other  fishermen.  If 
you  want  to  earn  your  fifty  pounds  to-night,  there  's 
no  time  to  spare.  When  you  come  back,  we  may 
both  be  dead  men,  if  you  don't  go  on  and  hurry.— 
Harry,  we  can  light  the  wick  again  at  eleven 
o'clock.  Let's  put  it  out  now.  We  can  do  without 
it.  We  shall  hear  the  church  clock  strike  the 
hours. " 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


189 


>w  ? "  he 
3olishly. 
g:  up  the 
I  as  well 
I  you  be 

,  drawl- 
aid  anx- 
d,  can't 

of  dis- 

lOUlit," 

hat 's  a 

:o  keep 
pt  and 
en.  If 
there  's 
^e  may 
urry. — 
eleven 
I'ithout 
ke   the 


The  man  nodded  a  stolid  acquiescence,  and  turn- 
ed once  more  slowly  on  his  heel.  They  watched 
him  silently  receding — receding.  Light  and  reflec- 
tion faded  o^radually  away.  The  faint  plash  of  his 
wooden  mud-shoes  on  the  flat  surface  was  heard  no 
more.  Nothing  remained  save  the  gurgling  of  the 
water.  They  were  left  alone — alone  with  the 
darkness. 

That  second  loneliness  was  lonelier  than  ever. 
Too  cold  to  speak,  almost  too  cold  even  to  hope, 
they  stood  there  still,  linked  arm-in-arm,  ready  to 
faint,  with  the  speechless  stars  burning  br'j^^ht  over- 
head, and  the  waters  rising  pitilessly  around  them. 
In  that  last  moment,  Alan's  thoughts  were  turned  to 
Olga.  Beautiful,  innocent,  ger  tle-souled  Olga.  If 
he  died  that  night,  he  died,  on  however  petty  an 
errand  it  might  be,  for  Olga's  sake — for  Olga — for 
Olga.  And  then  he  relapsed  into  a  kind  of  chilly 
stupor. 


in 


irtHlli 


I ! 


190 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


-a 


. 


!!i 


CHAPTER  XV. 


HIGH  TIDE. 


Ten     o'clock.     .     .     .      Half-past     ten.     . 
Eleven.      Numbed  and  half-dead,    they   heard  the 
clock  strike  out,   as  in    some   ghastly  dream,    and 
waited   and   watched  for   the   return   of  the   mud- 
angler. 

It  was  n't  so  very  far  to  the  shore.     Surely,  surely 
he  should  be  back  by  this  time. 

The  waters  in  the  estuary  rose  by  slow,  by 
almost  imperceptible  degrees.  But  still  they  rose. 
They  went  on  rising.  They  were  up  to  Harry's 
neck  now.  He  rested  his  chin  on  the  edge  of  the 
water.  Five  minutes  more,  and  all  would  be  up. 
Faint  and  weary,  he  would  fall  in  the  channel. 

"Look  here,  Tennant,"  he  murmured  at  last, 
grasping  his  friend's  hand  beneath  the  surface  in 
a  hard  long  grip  :  "  I  'm  going  to  swim  now.  It 's 
no  use  waiting.  I  've  only  got  five  minutes  to  live. 
...  I  mustn't  stop  here.  If  I  stop,  you  know, 
when   the  water  rises,  I  shall  choke  and  struggle. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


191 


;ard  the 
m,  and 
e   mud- 

,  surely 

)w,  by 
y  rose. 
Harry's 
:  of  the 
be  up. 
3l. 

it  last, 
face  in 

r.      It's 

to  live. 

know, 

rug:gle. 


Then  you'll  clutch  me  hold,  and  try  to  save  me, 
and  that  '11  spoil  your  own  last  chance  of  living. 
I  'm  going  to  swim.  It  won't  be  far.  But  it 's  better 
at  any  rate  than  dying  like  a  dog  with  a  stone  round 
its  neck,  still  here  on  the  bottom.  Good-bye,  old 
fellow.  Good-bye  forever.  Never  let  Olga  know  if 
you  get  back  safe,  what  it  was  we  did  it  for  !  " 

Alan  held  him  hard  with  whatever  life  was  yet 
left  in  him. 

"Stop,  stop,  Harry,"  he  cried  in  dismay. 
"There 's  still  a  chance.  Every  minute  's  a  chance. 
Don't  go,  don't  go.  Stop  with  me,  for  heaven's 
sake,  and  if  we  must  die,  let 's  die  together." 

"No,  no,"  Harry  answered  in  a  resolute  voice. 
"You  've  got  half-an-hour's  purchase  of  life  better 
than  I  have,  now,  Tennant.  For  Olga's  sake^  you 
must  let  me  go.  For  Olga's  sake,  you  must  try 
to  save  yourself." 

"Never,"  Alan  cried,  firmly  and  hastily.  "Not 
even  for  Olga's  sake  !     Never  !    Never  !  " 

At  that  moment,  a  loud  shout  of  inquiry  re- 
sounded over  the  mud  flats  !  A  noise  of  men  !  A 
glimmer  of  lanterns  !  Alan  seized  his  friend,  and 
lifted  him  in  his  arms. 

"Saved!  Saved!"  he  cried.  "Shout,  Harry  I 
Shout  !     Shout,  shout,  my  dear,  dear  Harry  I  " 


192 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


|S' 


i  \ 


pi 


Harry  shouted  aloud  with  a  long  wild  cry.  It  was 
the  despairing  cry  of  a  dying  man,  and  it  echoed 
and  re-echoed  along  the  undulating  mud-flats. 

Alan  lighted  the  wick,  which  he  had  held  all  this 
time  for  dryness  in  his  teeth,  and  fitted  it  once 
more  into  the  crack  of  the  pole.  Harry  v/aved  it 
madly  about  over  his  head.  One  moment  more  of 
deadly  suspense.  Then  an  answering  cry  told 
them  at  last  that  the  men  with  the  lanterns  saw 
them  and  heard  them. 

Next  instant,  the  men  were  on  the  brink  of  the 
mud,  and  the  light  of  the  lanterns  poured  full  upon 
them. 

A  voice  very  different  from  that  of  their  friend  the 
mud-angler  shouted  aloud  in  a  commanding  tone, 
"  Shove  off  the  raft  !  Look  out  for  your  heads 
there  !  " 

Before  they  knew  exactly  what  it  was  that  was 
happening,  a  great  square  raft,  roughly  improvised 
from  two  cottage  doors,  nailed  together  by  cross- 
pieces,  floated  on  the  stream  full  in  front  of  them  : 
and  Alan,  scrambling  on  to  it  with  a  violent  strug- 
gle, lifted  up  the  faint  and  weary  Harry  in  his  arms 
to  the  dry  and  solid  place  of  safety. 

The  men  pulled  them  alongside  w'ith  two  ropes 
attached  to  the  raft ;  and  the  same  voice  that  had 


{i 


HI  it 


i.r    \'* 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


193 


It  was 
echoed 
ts. 

I  all  this 
it  once 
.^aved  it 
more  of 
:ry  told 
ns  saw 

:  of  the 
ill  upon 

end  the 
ig  tone, 
■  heads 

lat  was 
rovised 
'•  cross- 
them  : 
t  strug- 
s  arms 

0  ropes 
lat  had 


spoken  first  said  once  more  in  kindly  tones,  ' '  Brandy, 
hot.  Take  a  good  pull  at  it !  Don't  be  afraid. 
Next,  your  turn.  .  .  .  After  that,  this.  A  pull 
o'  soup.  It  '11  warm  your  heart,  man.  Now,  sit  on 
the  raft  and  recover  a  little." 

Alan  sat  on  the  raft  giddily,  as  he  was  bid,  and 
laid  Harry's  head  on  his  lap  like  a  woman.  One 
of  the  men — not  their  mud-angler — pulled  off  his 
dry  jersey  at  once,  and  handed  it  over  to  Alan  with 
native  kindliness.  Alan  laid  it  under  Harry's  head. 
The  poor  fellow  was  half  fainting,  half  asleep  with 
exhaustion.  They  gave  him  more  beef-tea,  and 
more  brandy.  He  revived  slowly  ;  and  meanwhile, 
the  raft  lay  idle  alongside,  the  men  in  mud-shoes 
standing  on  the  bank  and  looking  over. 

"We  must  get  along  soon,"  one  of  them  said, 
after  a  pause.  "Water's  rising.  Soon  be  over  the 
flats.  Can  you  walk?"  kindly,  to  Alan.  And  he 
held  up  a  pair  of  mud-shoes  in  his  hand  to  explain 
his  question. 

"I  never  tried  them,"  Alan  answered,  looking  at 
them  dubiously:  "but  I  dare  say  I  could.  Any- 
how, I  '11  risk  it. 

He  sat  on  the  raft  and  put  them  on  as  the  man 

directed    him.      Then  they  reached  down  a  pole, 

which  the  four  men  held ;  and  with  it   they  lifted 
13 


( 


ll 


III 


w 


lltii 


194 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


Iiiin  up  on   to    the   mud-hank.      He  took  his  stand 
there  uneasily  cnouj^h. 

"Don't  fall,  whatever  you  do,"  the  chief  speaker 
said  encoura^^^ns;ly  ;  "and  don't  stumble.  Glide 
along  on  'em  the  same  as  if  you  was  skating. 
Keep  from  stumbling,  and  you  '11  be  all  right.  Are 
you  getting  warmer?  Have  another  pull  at  the 
soup,  and  a  bit  o'  biscuit." 

Alan  ate  the  proffered  food  thankfully.  Thank 
heaven,  their  first  mud-angling  acquaintance  was 
no  fair  sample  of  the  whole  fraternity. 

"Now  for  the  other  one,"  the  speaker  continued. 
"  It  ain  't  no  good  giving  him  mud-shoes.  He  ain't 
in  no  fit  state  at  all  for  walking.  We  must  drag 
him  along  somehow  on  the  raft,  Billy.  Here  you, 
sir  ;  hold  on  to  the  raft.  Now,  all  together  !  Heave 
him  up  !  heave  oh  !  " 

The  four  men  took  hold  of  the  ropes  at  once,  and 
pulled  the  raft,  with  Harry  on  it,  over  the  shelving 
bank,  now  nearly  level  with  the  rising  water,  and 
on  to  the  mud-flats.  Then  they  tied  the  two  ropes 
firmly  to  the  pole  :  placed  it  in  front  of  them  as  a 
sort  of  support  or  axletree,  and  all  pulling  at  it,  with 
Alan  in  the  middle,  began  to  make  their  way  shore- 
ward. 
They  struck  across  the  flats  by  the  nearest  way, 


II: 


lis  stand 

f  speaker 

Glide 

skating. 

lit.     Are 

11  at  the 

Thank 
nee  was 

ntinued. 
He  ain't 
ist  dr.ig 
ere  yon, 
Heave 

ice,  and 
shelving 
ter,  and 
o  ropes 
em  as  a 
it,  with 
f  shore- 

>t  way, 


Kale'j's  Shrine. 


195 


walking  slowly,  on  Alan's  account,  and  dragging 
the  raft  easily  behind  them.  It  sank  slightly  in  the 
mud  as  they  went,  but  not  much  ;  and  the  men 
pulled  it  as  if  well  accustomed  to  that  singular 
conveyance. 

After  only  a  few  hundred  yards  of  mud,  Alan 
was  perfectly  astonished  to  find  that  they  reached 
the  dyke  and  the  reclaimed  marshes.  So  near  had 
they  been  all  the  time  to  land  in  one  direction,  and 
yet  so  dangerously  far  and  remote  from  it. 

"We  couldn't  come  sooner,"  the  chief  speaker 
explained  kindly  to  Alan,  noticing  his  surprise. 
"Billy  came  "—pointing  to  their  first  friend,  the 
mud-angler — "  and  told  us  at  once  all  about  you. 
But  I  knowed  it  was  no  use  going  on  the  search  till 
we  could  do  something  practical-like  to  save  you  ; 
and  there  wasn't  a  minute  to  spare,  I'll  warrant 
you.  In  half  an  hour,  the  flats  '11  be  covered  :  as 
soon  as  they  're  covered,  the  mud's  soft,  and  there 
ain't  no  possibility  o'  walking  on  it.  We'd  got  to 
hunt  up  two  more  men,  and  a  couple  o'  vacant 
pairs  o'  mud  shoes  :  and  as  all  the  lot  was  out  on 
the  flats,  that  wasn't  none  so  easy  neither.  Then 
we  'd  got  to  take  down  them  there  two  doors,  and 
nail  'em  together,  and  put  the  ropes  to  'em  :  and 
it 's  precious  lucky  we  thought  o'  doing  it.     For  if 


196 


Kalee*s  Shrine. 


tm\ 


iH 


It! 


you  'd  had  nobody  but  Billy  and  them  to  help 
you,"—  here  his  voice  sank  to  a  confidential  whis- 
per,—"it's  my  belief,  in  the  manner  o'  speaking, 
you  'd  both  ha'  been  drovvnded  just  as  you  stood 
there." 

Alan  saw  at  once  in  his  own  mind  the  wisdom  of 
his  new  friend's  well-arranged  plan.     To  have  gone 
out   on    the    mere    impulse,    unprovided    with   the 
necessary  assistance  of  the  raft,  would  have  been 
worse   than    useless  :    the   men    could   only   have 
gazed  at  them  helplessly  from  the  edge  of  the  ooze 
as   their  stolid   acquaintance   Billy   had   begun  by 
doing.     Still,  it  was  awful  to  think   that  they  had 
had   to   stop  there  drowning  by   inches   while  the 
men  on  shore  were  quietly  taking  down  the  cottage 
doors  and  rudely   knocking   the   extemporized   raft 
and  planks   together.     They    might   at   least   have 
sent   somebody  on    beforehand  to  tell   them   help 
would  soon  be   coming  !     Ana   then,    he   reflected 
once  more  on    the   utter  loneliness  of  those   wild 
saltings,  with  their  solitary  huts  scattered  about  at 
long   distances,    and   recognized   immediately   that 
the  men  had  acted  for  the  very  best,—  had  done 
the  only  thing  possible   for   them.     Lucky  indeed 
that  one  man  at  least  was  found  among  the  mud- 
anglers  with  a  strong  hand  and  a  cool  head,  for  if 


Kalee's  S'rine. 


197 


to  help 
tial  whis- 
ipeaking, 
3u  stood 

isdom  of 
ive  gone 
vith  the 
ve  been 
ly  have 
;he  ooze 
Dgun  by 
ley  had 
hile  the 

cottage 
zed  raft 
st  have 
m  help 
eflected 
se  wild 
ibout  at 
ily  that 
id  done 

indeed 
e  mud- 
d,  for  if 


I 


they  had  been  left  entirely  to  the  mercy  of  Billy 
and  his  like-minded  associates,  they  might,  as  their 
new  friend  rightly  said,  still  be  drowning  by  inches 
in  the  dark  estuary  I 

The  men  kicked  off  their  mud-shoes  dexterously, 
and  piled  them  up  in  a  low  shed,  thatched  with 
rushes,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  drained  saltings. 
Then  without  a  word,  and  as  if  by  signal  given, 
they  lifted  up  Alan  and  Harry  between  them,  two 

vJ  two,  and  carried  them  across  the  steamin^r 
fields  to  a  small  cottage.  It  was  the  home  of  the 
man  who  had  directed  the  others — Tom  Wilkes, 
the  captain  of  the  mud-anglers.  Late  as  it  was, 
the  women  were  sitting  up  to  receive  them  :  a 
bright  wood  fire  burned  merrily  on  the  kitchen 
hearth  ;  and  a  steaming  kettle  hissed  in  the  midst 
of  it.  They  laid  them  in  chairs  close  to  the 
fireside  j  removed  iheir  wet  clothes  hastily,  and 
wrapped  them  round  as  they  stood  in  dry  blankets. 
The  fire  and  food  soon  revived  Harry  ;  and  the 
men  carried  him  upstairs  to  a  bed,  where  he  was 
soon  asleep  and  comfortably  settled. 

As  for  Alan,  worn  out  as  he  was,  his  first  idea  was 
to  get  back  to  Thorborough  at  all  hazards.  Olga 
would  be  waiting  anxiously  to  hear  about  him. 
Could  he  borrow  a  horse  and  ride  home  alone  ? 


I 


i! 


It 


11' 


v:l 


^11'  i 


■  i 


ilf  i 


198 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


Tom  Wilkes  shook  his  head  in  a  decided  nega- 
tive. There  wasn't  a  horse  for  three  miles  about— 
nothing  but  sheep  and  cattle  on  the  saltii\^'s  :  and 
as  to  Thorborough,  it  was  t'other  side  river,  and 
river  spread  in  fingers  and  fingers,  with  saltings  be- 
tween, so  that  there  wasn't  no  bridge  without  you 
went  round  right  away  by  Winningham. 

In  those  lonely  peninsulas  of  Suffolk  and  Essex, 
indeed,  spots  may  be  found  more  utterly  isolated 
from  the  outer  world  than  any  to  be  seen  in  Wales 
or  Scotland— saltings  cut  off  by  interminable  back- 
waters and  interlacing  estuaries  from  any  inter- 
course save  in  one  long  straight  line,  with  surround- 
ing districts.  It  was  only  six  miles,  as  the  crow 
flies,  from  Tom  Wilkes's  cottage  to  the  church  at 
Thorborough  ;  yet  the  road  by  land  led  ten  miles 
inland,  and  then  fifteen  miles  more  round  to  avoid 
the  rivers. 

There  was  no  hope  for  it.  Anxious  as  he  was 
Alan  was  positively  compelled  to  sleep  at  the  cot- 
tage, and  early  next  morning,  he  mentally  resolved, 
he  would  walk  with  his  host  to  the  nearest  ''hard" 
or  landing-place,  and  there  hire  a  boat  to  take  him 
to  Thorborough. 

He  went  to  bed,  and  with  the  aid  of  more 
jr?inay,    Dourcu.  down  hot.   soon  fell  asleen.    from 


isleep. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


led  nega- 
3  about — 
^•^'S  :  and 
'iver,  and 
Itings  be- 
lout  you 

id  Essex, 
isolated 
in  Wales 
)le  back- 
\y  inter- 
urround- 
;he  crow 
hurch  at 
:en  miles 
to  avoid 

!  he  was 
the  cot- 

esolved, 
' '  hard  " 

:ake  him 

)f    more 
!p,   from 


199 


sheer  fatigue  and  weariness.  For  an  hour  or  more 
he  slept  very  soundly — the  deep  sleep  that  suc- 
ceeds exhaustion.  Then  about  two  o'clock,  he 
awoke  with  a  sudden  start.  He  had  dreamed  some- 
thing. A  cold  perspiration  seized  upon  his  limbs. 
He  shuddered  and  listened.  In  his  dream  he  fancied 
he  had  heard  some  noise  !  A  stifled  cry  !  A  sup- 
pressed groan  !  A  faint  utterance  !  he  knew  not 
what.  It  seem.ed  to  come,  not  from  the  room 
where  he  slept,  but,  vaguely  floating,  from  the  air 
above  him.  He  sat  up  in  bed  and  listened  again. 
It  was  only  the  beating  and  fluttering  of  his  own 
heart. 

"I  hope  to  goodness  nothing's  the  matter  with 
Olga,"  he  said  to  himself  wearily.  "I  felt  as  if 
something  —  something  terrible,  were  happening 
over  yonder  to  Olga!  Poor  child!  she'll  be  half 
dead  with  i:ight  at  our  stopping  away.  How  absurd 
of  me  to  wake  and  feel  like  this  !  I  'm  almost 
superstitious  myself  to-night !  No  wonder,  either, 
after  such  an  adventure  on  death's  brink  as  that 
one ! 

In  five  minutes  more,  the  shudder  had  passed 
away  entirely  :  he  turned  round,  fell  asleep  again, 
and  slept  soundly  till  eight  in  the  morning. 


ii 


[If 


i 

■   . 

i 

i 

n  "^' 

i 

: 

: 

t 

^ 

,y^-\^  : 

Hif 


'1^. 


it  '■  f 


2CX> 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE    BUBBLE    PRICKED. 


At  eight  o'clock,  Alan  rose  and  dressed  himself, 
in  a  shirt  and  jersey  and  pair  of  sailor  trousers, 
coarse,  indeed,  but  dry  and  warm,  lent  him  by  their 
kindly  host  and  rescuer  of  last  evening.  Sleep  i  ad 
done  him  a  world  of  good.  Accustomed  to  expos- 
ure in  his  student  days,  he  rallied  fast  with  food  and 
warmth;  and  when  he  went  down  at  last  to  the 
simple  breakfast  in  the  cottage  living-room,  he  was 
ready  to  do  full  justice  to  the  smoking  rasher,  home- 
made bread,  and  hot  coffee,  that  Tom  Wilkes's  wife 
set  temptingly  before  him. 

Harry,  however,  had  suffered  far  more.  Exhaus- 
tion and  chill  had  told  severely  upon  him.  He  was 
hot  and  feverish.  It  would  be  impossible  to  move 
him  from  the  cottage  for  the  present.  He  must 
clearly  stop  there  till  he  got  well  again.  There  was 
no  danger,  but  need  for  nursiug.  Meanwhile,  Alan 
felt,  for  his  own  part,  he  must  go  back  at  once  to 
Thorborough  to  report  to  Olga.     Poor  Olga,  she 


I 


himself, 
trousers, 
by  their 
leep  i  ad 
o  expos- 
ood  and 
t  to  the 
he  was 
r,  home- 
^s's  wife 

Exhaus- 
He  was 
o  move 
[e  must 
ere  was 
le,  Alan 
once  to 


Kalee*s  Shrine. 


201 


would  be  wondering  sadly  what  fate  on  earth  could 
possibly  have  befallen  them  ! 

After  breakfast,  he  said  a  temporary  good-bye 
to  Harry — not  without  many  regrets — and  walked 
briskly  with  his  host  by  the  salting  footpath  as  far 
as  Hurdham.  There,  at  the  little  wooden  pier,  they 
found  a  boat,  and  sailed  with  a  lucky  wind  against 
the  rising  tide  to  the  well-known  landing-place  at 
Thorborough  Haven.  In  ten  minutes  from  their 
arrival,  Alan  was  up  at  the  hotel,  had  written  out  a 
cheque  for  the  promised  reward  (not  that  Tom 
Wilkes  himself  cared  so  much  for  that),  and  had  set- 
tled once  more  with  infinite  comfort  into  his  proper 
garments.  Then,  without  waiting  for  anything  else 
he  hurried  along  the  Shell  Path  with  eager  foot- 
steps till  he  reached  Mrs.  Hilary  Tristram's  door. 
His  heart  bounded  as  he  rang  the  bell  !  One  mo- 
ment more,  and  he  would  be  with  Olga  ! 

The  servant  opened  the  door  to  him  with  a 
scared  face. 

**You  can't  see  Miss  Trevelyan,"  she  answered 
at  once,  in  reply  to  his  tv/ice  repeated  question. 
"  She 's  upstairs.  .  .  .  I  don't  think  anybody  at 
all  can  see  her.  She 's  with  Mrs.  Tristram.  I 
b'lieve  Sir  Donald  has  sent  out  for  the  policeman." 

' '  For  the  policeman  i  "  Alan  cried,  aghast  at  the 


202 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


|l  t  !  >' 


\< 


I) 


III 


words,  still  more  at  the  manner  in  which  they  were 
spoken.      "  Sent  for  the  policeman  !     For  Miss  Tre- 
velyan  !     Oh  no,  oh  no  !     There  must  be  some  mis- 
take.    What  in  heaven's  name  do  you  mean  to  say 
girl  ?  " 

The  girl  drew  back,  half  offended,  at  his  words, 
and  held  the  door  ajar  cautiously. 

''  I  mean  what  I  say,"  she  answered  with  a  slow 
anddistinct  intonation.  "  Miss  Norah  's  murdered  ! 
She  s  lying  dead  on  the  bed  upstairs.  There  's  a  great 
black  -ing  round  her  poor  neck.  And  they  say  it 
was  Miss  Trevelyan  herself  as  did  it.  As  true  as 
life,  Miss  Trevelyan  's  choked  her." 

While  she  yet  spoke,  Olgas  face  appeared,  pale 
as  death,  with  sunken  eyes  and  haggard  cheeks,  at 
the  top  of  the  staircase.  She  had  heard  Alan's  voice 
as  he  stood  at  the  door,  and  even  in  that  hour  of 
anguish  and  despair,  she  rushed  down  wildly  to 
fling  herself  and  li      griefs  upon  his  strong  bosom. 

"Alan!  Alan!"  she  cried,  as  she  clasped  him 
with  mad  energy  in  her  arms.  "You're  safe! 
You  're  safe  !_Yes,  I  did  it !  I  did  it  !  It  was  Kalee 
— Kalee  !  Kalee  bid  ine  !  I  am  Kalee's,  Kalee's  : 
I  belong  to  Kalee  !  That 's  why  I  always  sleep  with 
my  eyes  open  !  My  ayah  told  me  so  when  I  was  a 
baby  !  " 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


203 


ley  were 
Jiss  Tre- 
)nie  mis- 
1  to  say, 

>  words, 

I  a  slow 
irdered  ! 
5  a  great 
y  say  it 
true  as 

■d,  pale 
seks,  at 
's  voice 
lour  of 
Idly  to 
3som. 
^d  him 
safe  ! 

>  Kalee 
alee's  : 
?p  with 

was  a 


Alan  looked  down  at  her  in  a  sudden  agony  of 
pity  and  terror.  Ilis  practised  eye  needed  no  long 
detail  of  her  present  symptoms  to  read  the  true 
secret  of  the  ghastly  story.  She  was  half  in  a  trance 
even  now — even  now — still  comatose  and  frantic 
from  the  last  effects  of  that  hateful  mesmerism. 

"  Olga,  Olga,  my  darling,"  he  cried,  holding  her 
off  at  arm's  length  and  gazing  at  her  for  a  mo- 
ment. "I  know  it  all  !  I  see  it  all  !  What  have 
they  been  doing  to  you  ?  Did  the  creature  mes- 
merize you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Tristram  approached  them  gently  from  be- 
hind. 

"Olga,"  she  said,  in  a  calm  low  voice,  with  her 
red  eyes  looking  only  tenderiicss  at  the  frantic  girl, 
"come  with  me,  love.  Mr.  Tennant,  you  will  find 
Sir  Donald  and  Mr.  Keen  over  yonder  in  the  break- 
fast-room. They  will  tell  you  all  about  our  terrible 
trouble.     Norah  is  dead.     Where  is  Harry.' '' 

She  said  it  simply,  with  the  infinite  calmness  of 
pure  despair.  Her  heart  was  broken.  Those  two 
had  been  more  to  her  than  son  and  daughter.  Yet 
she  took  Olga's  hand  gently  in  her  own.  She  owed 
her  no  grudge  for  that  unconscious  act.  Her  grief 
was  far  too  ])rofound  and  sacrei  ^or  petty  thoughts 
iiess  or  recrimination. 


I* 


.U4 


Ill 


• 


;  I- 


204 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


"Harry is  safe  !  "  Alan  answered  eagerly.  "  He 
will  soon  be  back.  We  were  delayed  all  night.  I 
left  him  going  on  well  in  a  cottage  on  the  saltings. 
.  .  .  This  cannot  be  true,  Mrs.  Tristram.  It 
cannot  be  true.  She  is  not  dead.  There  is  some 
error  somewhere. " 

Mrs.  Tristram  led  the  passive  Olga  upstairs  once 
more,  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  pointed  with  her 
hand  in  solemn  silence  to  the  door  of  the  breakfast- 
room.  She  could  not  explain.  It  was  too,  too 
painful.      ! 


i  i  f 


■ 

;  i. 

■ 

'  • 

■ 

^^H 

i  ' 

^^^B: 

1 

■1 

1 

Alan  entered  the  breakfast-room  with  a  sinking 
heart.  Sir  Donald  and  Mr.  Keen  were  conversing 
low  by  themselves  at  the  bow-window. 

They  turned  at  once  as  Alan  entered. 

"This  is  a  bad  business,  Mr.  Tennant,"  Sir  Donald 
said  solemnly  as  the  young  man  looked  at  him  with 
accusing  eyes.  - 1  feared  as  much.  I  told  you  so 
before.  The  curse  has  worked  itself  out.  There  's 
mischief  come  of  it." 

"Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,"  Alan  said  in  a  stern 
voice,  not  offering  the  gray  old  man  his  hand,  but 
standing  bolt  upright  like  a  denouncing  spirit  before 
him,  "  answer  me  one  thing  first  of  all !  Is  it  true  you 
have  dared  to  send  for  the  police  for  Miss  Tre velyan  ? " 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


205 


''He 

ight.  I 
altings. 
am.  It 
s  some 

's  once 
ith  her 
;akfast- 
>o,    too 


jinking 
versing 


)onald 
n  with 
'"ou  so 
here  's 

stern 
d,  but 
before 
leyou 

ran  ? " 


Sir  Donald  stared  at  him  in  blank  surprise. 

"Not  yet,  not  yet,"  he  answered  evasively  as 
soon  as  he  could  find  his  voice  again  : — "  though  I 
feel  as  a  magistrate  I  ought  to  have  sent  for  them 
much  earlier.  There  's  been  murder  done,  and  we 
should  hand  the  culprit  over  impartially  to  justice. 
She  may  have  known  it,  or  she  may  not  have  known 
it :  but  that's  for  a  jury  of  her  countrymen  to  try. 
We  mustn't  go  and  settle  it  for  them  beforehand.  I 
meant.  .  .  I  meant  to  send  Mr.  Keen  shortly  to 
get  the  police  here." 

The  young  man  eyed  him  with  a  calm  disdain. 
Sir  Donald  quailed  a  little  tremulously  before  him. 
He  looked  so  stern,  and  cold,  and  judicial. 

"Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,"  he  said  again,  in  a 
hard  dry  tone,  "  answer  me  one  more  question,  will 
you  ?  Were  you  a  party  in  my  absence  last  night 
to  mesmerizing  (as  they  call  it)  Miss  Trevelyan  ?  " 

Sir  Donald  shuffled  somewhat  in  his  shoes. 

♦'  Mr.  Keen,"  he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  hauteur, 
"will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

The  mesmerist  smiled  feebly  out  of  the  wrinkled 
corners  of  his  cold  glazed  eyes— those  expression- 
less gray-blue  eyes  of  his — and  murmured  with  an 
apologetic  and  exculpatory  wave  of  his  long  thin 
fingers, 


'I 


I 


206 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


lIM; 


H 


I 


4 

i^ 


"I  don't  understand  Hindustani  myself.  There 
was  Hindustani  spoken  at  the  experiment.  I  thinic 
Sir  Donald,  who  knows  it,  had  better  tell  you." 

Neither  of  them,  on  second  thoughts,  felt  partic- 
ularly proud  of  his  own  sliare  in  the  transaction, 
it  was  evident.  However,  Alan  somewhat  saved 
them  the  trouble  by  catching  instinctively  at  the 
fatal  tell-tale  word  Hindustani. 

**  Hindustani  !  "  he  cried.  "Then  there  was 
Hindustani  spoken  !  Before  you  venture,  sir,  to 
send  for  the  police  to  this  house,  have  the  goodness 
to  tell  me,  pray,  who  spoke  Plindustani? " 

' '  I  did, "  Sir  Donald  replied  nervously.  He  twirled 
his  watch-chain,  and  cast  down  his  eyes,  ill  at  ease 
nc  doubt  with  his  own  conscience. 

"  Tell  Pie  all  you  know  about  the  circumstances," 
Alan  said,  in    a  low  tone  of  quiet  authority. 

The  old  civilian  bridled  up  for  a  moment.  Who 
was  this  young  doctor  that  he  should  order  and 
cross-examine  an  officer  of  the  Crown  .?  Then,  see- 
ing the  stern  look  still  glaring  in  the  young  man's 
eyes,  he  changed  his  mind,  began  his  tale,  and  ran 
rapidly  through  the  whole  pitiful  story,  as  it  figured 
itself  as  of  course  to  his  superstitious  Highland 
imagination. 

Alan  faced  him  in  silence,   flushed   and   angry. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


207 


There 
I  think 

I." 
partic- 

iaction, 

saved 

at  the 

e  was 
sir,  to 
odness 

twirled 
it  ease 

inces," 

Who 
3r  and 
1,  see- 
man's 
id  ran 
igured 
:hhand 

mgry. 


The  mesmerist  stood  behind,  with  a  furtive  glance, 
folding  his  long  thin  hands  a  little  nervously  one 
over  the  other.  Sir  Donald  hummed  and  hawed 
occasionally,  but  told  his  terrible  story  on  the  whole 
without  demur,  in  plain  and  straightforward  soldier- 
like language. 

Alan  drank  in  every  word  as  he  uttered  it  with 
eager  attention,  noting  it  all  down,  point  after  point, 
as  the  superstitious  Highlander  unconsciously  un- 
folded the  rise  and  outgrowth  of  that  deadly  tragedy 
in  his  own  excited  and  preoccupied  brain. 

At  last,  when  the  old  man  had  fully  finished 
speaking,  Alan  drew  back  a  pace  or  two  in  wrath, 
and  said  in  a  low,  distinct  voice, 

"Sir  Donald  Mackinnon  and  Mr.  Keen:  you  do 
well  to  stand  there  covered  with  confusion.  This  is 
a  very  bad  business  indeed  for  you.  There  has 
been  a  conspiracy — perhaps  an  unconscious  one, 
but  still  a  conspiracy — between  you  two  to  work 
this  mischief.  If  murder  has  been  done,  it  is  you 
who  are  the  murderers !  .  .  .  You,  you,  not 
that  innocent  young  girl  !  .  .  .  You,  sir,  and 
you  ;  YOU  who  are  the  murderers  !  " 

Sir  Donald  fell  back  a  step,  astonished  and  dis- 
mayed. 


I 


208 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


\<\ 


Itii; 


r  ' 


I'! 


"Me!"  he  repeated,  vacantly  and  half-angrily. 
"Me  the  murderer!  Me,  did  you  say,  Mr.  Ten- 
nant?  Why,  what  in  heaven's  name  do  you  mean 
by  that,  sir?" 

Alan  ans.vered  slowly  and  distinctly,  crossing 
his  arms,  and  gazing  at  him  with  relentless  ac- 
cusation. 

"Miss  Trevelyan  is  a  very  nervous  and  excitable 
person.      Her  temperament  is  too  highly  overstrung. 
She  suffers  from  a  peculiar  affection  of  the  eyes—due 
no  doubt,  as  you  say,  to  an  operation  performed  on 
her  in  infancy  by  some  Thug  priest  over  in  India, 
which  renders  her  particularly  liable  to  occasional 
fits  of  hysterical  somnambulism.     I  myself  have  seen 
her  walk  in  her  sleep  since  I  came  to  Thorborough. 
You  too,  I  now  for  the  first  time  learn,  also  saw  her 
on  that   same  occasion.     Those  two  facts  put  to- 
gether suggested  to  your  mind  a  hideous  delusion. 
For  weeks  you  have  talked  to  her  about  India  and 
her  childhood.     You  have  filled  her  head  with  wild 
and  horrible  ideas  about  Thuggee.     Having  a  very 
timid   and   delicate  nervous   organization   to  work 
upon,  you  have  worked  upon  it  mercilessly— uncon- 
sciously, I  know,  but  none  the  less  mercilessly— by 
endless  details  about  the  practice  of  assassination  and 
the  worship  of  Kalee.     You  have  recalled  to  the  poor 


III 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


209 


cirl's  terrified  mind  all  that  she  ever  heard  or  guessed 
or  picked  up  accidentally  from  servants  in  India  in 
her  childish  days  about  the  ghastly  Thugs  and  their 
detestable  goddess.  You  have  roused  her  to  such  a 
pitch  of  abnormal  excitement  that  snatches  of  Hin- 
dustani, long  since  forgotten,  came  back  to  h  of 
themselves  in  her  disturbed  sleep,  and  horrible 
images  dogged  her  and  terrified  her  in  her  waking 
moments.  All  this  you  have  done  under  my  very 
eyes  :  I  knew  it  all  and  saw  it  all  :  but  because  you 
were  an  old  man,  and  I  was  a  young  one,  I  fool- 
ishly forbore  to  warn  you  and  expostulate  with 
you.  I  wish  to  heaven,  now,  I  had  had  the  cour- 
age to  do  so  earlier." 

He  paused  a  moment,  to  gain  more  breath ;  and 
as  he  spoke,  a  faint  gleam  of  nascent  comprehen- 
sion seemed  to  rise  slowly  in  the  dull,  glazed, 
boiled-fishy  eyes  of  the  professional  mesmerist. 

"  So  much  you  had  done,  and  so  far  you  had 
gone,  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,"  Alan  went  on  bit- 
terly, holding  up  his  finger  to  enforce  silence,  "up 
to  last  evening.  Had  I  been  here,  you  should  have 
gone  no  further.  I  warned  Miss  Bickersteth  not  to 
allow  your  guest  over  yonder  to  mesmerize  my 
future  wife  on  any  account.  I  meant  myself  to 
hftve   seen   that   the   prohibition    was   carried   into 


i 


f  j 


i  J 


■ 


[III 


210 


Kalcc's  Shrine. 


cffoct  had  I  been  here.      I  knew  that  in  her  cxistinj^ 
nervous  state— shattered  as  her  health  has  been  by 
so  many  recent  occurrences— to  trifle  with  her  con- 
stitution would  be   little  short  of  deliberate  crimi- 
nality.     lUit,  driven  on  by  your  puerile  superstition 
—a  superstition  of  the  lowest  Indian  fanatics,— you 
thou^dit  nothinj,^  of  that— you   thou^dit   nothing  of 
her— you     thought    nothing    of   me— you    thought 
nothing   of  anything  but    your   own  wild    fancies. 
You  only  wished  to  bring  about  evil,  in  order  that 
you   might  have  the   feminine  delight  of  wagging 
your  head  sapiently,   when  all  was  over,  and  say- 
ing,  as  you  now  say,    'Ah,    well,    I  told  you   so.' 
Tlur  foolish  delight  you  have  actually  exhibited  to 
me  here  this  mo-ning.     And  I  stand  in  front  of  you 
as  your  accuser  this  moment,  telling  you  plainly,  if 
murder  has  been  done,  as  I  fear  it  has  been  done, 
that  I  charge  you  with  the  murder.     You,  you,  you 
are  the  murderer  !  " 

Sir  Donald  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  with 
trembling  lingers.  His  head  swam.  The  young 
man's  words  were  very  bitter,  but  the  provocation 
was  indeed  terrible.  It  began  to  dawn  upon  his 
dull,  superstitious,  heavy  mind  that  he  had  richly 
deserved  them. 

"Me,"  he  mrf.'^red  once  more,   with  feeble  re- 


«l 


in  i 


in  f 


Kalee's  Shrine, 


211 


existing- 
been  by 
licr  con- 
e  crimi- 
crstition 
s, — you 
liing  of 
thought 
fancies, 
ler  that 
sagging 
ul  say- 
ou   so. ' 
)ited  to 
of  you 
linly,  if 
I   done, 
)u,  you 

ir   with 

young 

Dcatioii 

>on  his 

richly 

'ble  re- 


s 


iteration.      "  l\Ic  the  murderer  !     Mo  the  murderer  ! 
Oh,  Mr.  'Pennant,  don't,  don't   \ccuse  me  !  " 

"Yes,"  Ahm  went  on,  with  increasing  sternness, 
unable  to  spare  the  quivering  old  man  one  single 
drop  from  the  full  cup  of  his  overflowing  niiserv. 
"I  was  detained  last  night  by  a  terrible  accident, 
which  kept  young  Bickersteth  and  myself  lingering 
for  hours  between  life  and  death  in  the  rising  tide 
in  unspeakable  suspense  and  long-drawn  agony. 
I  come  back,  this  morning,  trembling  with  fear  for 
the  effect  of  our  absence  on  Miss  Trevclyan,  to  find 
that  you  two,  with  your  infernal  tricks,  and  your 
mesmeric  devilry,  have  driven  my  future  wife,  in 
her  unnatural  sleep,  into  committing  a  horrible  but 
unconscious  crime.  You  two  have  done  it,  and 
you  two  only.  You,  sir,"  turning  fiercely  upon  Mr. 
Keen,  "  put  her  first  into  a  mesmeric  trance,  with- 
out one  moment's  inquiry  into  her  character  or  con- 
stitution or  previous  state  of  health.  To  do  so  was 
nothing  short  of  wickedness.  You  are  a  practised 
mesmerist.  You  know  that  your  whole  art  really 
consists  in  playing  with  edge-tools.  Yet  you  play 
with  them  unconcernedly,  on  an  innocent  young 
girl,  for  a  moment's  applause  at  an  evening  party. 
You,  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,  then  proceed  to  sug- 
gest by  your  vague  words  and  obscure  hints  to  Miss 


\ , 


212 


Kalce's  Shrine. 


Trcvelyan's  excited  fancy  the  commission   of  a  hor- 
rible and  tragic  crime;  and  you  su-gest  it  at   the 
very  moment  and  in  the  very  condition    when    as 
you  well  know  and  had  just  seen  in   another  case, 
the  wildest  and  most  impossible  of  all   conceivable 
suggestions   is  immediately  acted  out   with  unques- 
tioning faith  by  the  involuntary  agent.     You  knew 
her  will  was  in  temporary  abeyance.     You  knew 
her   conscience   was    in    your   safe-keeping.      You 
knew  she  must  do  whatever  you  suggested  to  her. 
Yet    you    dimly  suggested  the    commission    of  an 
atrocious  murder,  borrowed  from  the  rites  of  a  half- 
civilized   race,    with  every   circumstance  of  horror 
and  stealth  and  blood-thirstiness,  on  the  person  of 
a  friend  whom  she  loved  devotedly.     You  saw  her 
carry  out  your   half-hints    to   the  very  letter,   and 
only  refrain  from  the  last  fatal  act  and  step  of  all 
because  you   roused  her  just  in  time  from  her  mes- 
meric  trance  to   prevent  its  taking  place  in   your 
own  presence.     You  saw  her  wake,  horror-stricken 
and  agonized,  at  the   faint   recollection    of  the  un- 
natural crime  you  had  deliberately  forced  upon  her. 
I  know  it,  because  I  hear  you  say  it.     You  have 
told  me  all  this  in  your  own   words  and  with  your 
own    prepossessions.     Out  of  your  own  mouth,   I 
condemn  you  as  a  murderer." 


llll 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


213 


of  a  hor- 
it  at   the 
when,  as 
:her  case, 
nceivable 
I  unques- 
ou  knew 
ou  knew 
^.      You 
1  to  her. 
n    of  an 
)f  a  half- 
f  horror 
erson  of 
saw  her 
:er,   and 
?p  of  all 
er  mes- 
in   your 
stricken 
the  un- 
>on  her. 
u  have 
th  your 
3uth,   I 


He  wiped  the  cold  sweat  tremulously  from  his 
brow.  Then  he  continued  once  more  with  his 
merciless  exposition. 

"You  were  so  full  of  your  foolish  supernatural  ex- 
planatioir  "  he  said,  "  that  you  never  once  thought 
of  the  natural  and  true  explanation.  Believing  in 
the  real  existence  of  Kalee,  it  seems,  quite  as  gen- 
uinely as  the  wretched  Thugs  themselves  who  wor- 
ship her,  you  accepted  Kalee's  orders  as  the  moving 
power  of  what  was  really  brought  about  in  the 
sleeping  girl's  mind  by  your  own  terrible  and  un- 
earthly suggestion.  Miss  Trevelyan  went  to  her 
room  only  half  aroused,  under  the  influence  of  the 
ghastly  delusion  your  hints  had  created  in  her. 
You  never  asked  whether  any  precaution  had  been 
taken  or  was  to  be  taken  to  prevent  the  final  cata- 
strophe you  had  so  nearly  seen  consummated.  You 
were  satisfied  to  leave  it  all  to  Kalee — that  is  to 
say.  to  the  unconscious  working  out  of  your  own 
wild  hints  and  hideous  imaginings.  By  an  unfor- 
tunate error  of  judgment, — a  thousand  times  less 
serious  and  criminal  than  yours,  but  still  a  terrible 
error, — the  medical  man,  who  ought  to  have  known 
better,  administered  a  drug  which  kept  up  instead 
of  allaying  the  abnormal  excitement.  It  rendered 
the  delusion  more  fixed  and  permanent.     That  de- 


.M 


1B 


214 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


u 


1   I 


Ir 


■1 


lusion  still  survives.     I  saw  it  at  once  in  Miss  Tre- 
velyan's  eyes  the  moment  I  entered.     We  must  try 
to  overcome  it.     But  for  it  and  for  everything  you 
you  are  to  blame.      I   say  it  once  more,  soberly 
and  seriously,  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,  you  are  the 

MURDERER  !  " 

Sir  Donald  sank  back  faintly  into  a  chair.      The 
young  doctor's  words  smote  him  to  the  heart.      In 
a  vague,   nascent,  half-doubting  way,   he  began  to 
feel  nov/  that  he  had  done  it  all.     There  was  no 
Kalee !     There   had   never  been  a  Kalee  !     There 
could  be  no  Kalee  !     Superstitious  as  he  was,   the 
old  man  shrank  from  admitting  even  to    himself 
when  brought  thus  face  to  face  with  that  ultimate 
question,,  the   existence  and    power  of  the  strange 
gods. 

''I  didn't  mean  it  !  "  he  muttered  feebly  in  an  un- 
dertone.  -I  never  meant  to  suggest  anything.  I 
only  said  she  was  noosing  a  roomal.  I  thought  the 
girl  was  a  votary  of  Kalee  !  " 

''You  admit  the  charge,"  Alan  cried  bitterly. 
"You  confess  !  You  admit  it !  That  is  well,  so 
far.  But  what  will  a  common-sense  English  jury 
say  to  it  ?  Will  they  listen  to  reason  ?  Will  they 
ever  acquit  her  ?  Do  you  know  what  ordeal  you 
have  brought  upon  my  Olga  ? " 


iii 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


215 


He  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  All  his  force 
and  wrath  was  spent  and  gone.  The  terrible  pos- 
sibility of  a  trial  for  murder  for  the  woman  he  loved 
best  in  the  world  overcame  him  at  last.  He  real- 
ized the  thing  vividly  in  its  full  awfulness.  Bowing 
his  head,  broken  hearted,  upon  the  table,  he  wept  . 
bitterly. 


,-ii 


216 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 


{1 


Mi 


iiff' 


HOPE. 

The  mesmerist  paced  the  room  alone.  "If a 
murder  has  been  done,"  he  said  slowly,  "  we  two 
are  the  murderers.  I  admit  it.  I  see  it.  I  know 
my  art.  The  young  man  is  right.  Mackinnon  led 
her  into  it.  But  has  a  murder  been  done  at  all  ? 
Eh  ?  Who  knows  ?  1  don't  feel  sure  of  it.  That 's 
just  the  question." 

Alan  raised  his  head  in  an  agony  of  suspense. 
*'Who  has  seen  Miss  Bickersteth .? "  he  asked 
hurriedly.  "Does  Dr.  Hazleby  give  up  all  hope? 
In  cases  of  suffocation,  it  's  so  easy  at  times  to 
confound  death  with  temporary  asphyxia.  Has 
everythmg  been  tried-every  possible  restorative  > 
What  has  been  done  for  her  ?  tell  me  !  tell 
me  ! " 

"Nothing,  nothing!"  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon 
exclaimed  with  a  glimpse  of  hope.  *•  Hazleby's 
out—gone  over  to  Hurdham.  Nobody  s  seen  her 
but    Keen  and  myself    and    Mrs.    Tristram,       We 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


217 


thought  she   was  dead  !     She  looked  it,    certainly. 
She'  s  almost  cold,  and  her  pulse  isn  't  beating." 

Alan  leaped  excitedly  at  once  to  his  feet. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  cried  in  surprise 
and  horror,  "  that  you  've  given  her  up  before  any 
medical  man  has  even  seen  her  ?  A  case  of  stran- 
gulation !  Fools !  Idiots  !  I  must  go  this  mo- 
ment !     Where  is  she  ?     Where  is  she  ?  " 

They  hurried  upstairs  with  him  to  Norah's  room, 
where  Olga  and  Mrs.  Tristram  sat  hand-in-hand, 
tearless,  by  the  bedside,  absorbed  in  that  most  de- 
vouring and  grinding  of  griefs,  the  grief  that  cannot 
find  relief  in  weeping. 

Olga  shrank  with  horror  from  her  lover's  gaze  as 
he  entered  the  room. 

"Oh,  Alan,  Alan,"  she  cried,  gasping,  "don't 
come  near  me  !  Don  't  touch  me  I  Don  't  touch 
me  !  I  know  I  did  it  !  I  think  I  did  it ;  I  killed 
Norah,  and  I  belong  to  Kalee  !  " 

Alan  motioned  her  gently  aside  with  his  hand. 
He  knew  it  was  no  time  now  to  soothe  her.  A 
servant  led  her,  obedient  and  unnerved,  into  the 
next  room.  She  followed  the  girl,  silent  but  tear- 
less. 

The  young  doctor  felt  the  pulse  and  heart  a  mo- 
ment.    Then  a  great  joy  flushed  bright  in  his  eyes. 


«i 


218 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


■■»  i 


I 


ii. 


[Hi 

■ 

1 

j^H 

H 

■ 

H 

^H' 

k 

"There  is  hope!  There  is  hope!"  he  cried. 
"Artificial  respiration  !  Aflutter!  Aflutter!  The 
heart  may  yet  be  made  to  beat.  Quick,  quick. 
Brandy!  Lay  her  down  on  the  floor  here!  Lift 
her  arms  !  So,  so  !  Now  again  !  Do  as  I  tell  you. 
There  is  hope  !  There  is  hope !  She  is  710/  yet 
dead,  though  just  next  door  to  it  !  We  may  revive 
her  still !     Heaven  grant  us  success  in  it." 

They  waited  anxiously  for  twenty  minutes,  try- 
ing every  restorative  that  Alans  skill  and  knowl- 
edge could  possibly  suggest ;  and  at  the  end  of 
that  time,  Norah  slowly  drew  one  long  faint 
breath  .  .  .  and  then  another  .  .  .  and  another 
.     .     .     and  another    .     .     .     and  another. 

Great  heavens  I  what  an  eternity  of  suspense  it 
seemed,  the  second's  pause  between  each  of  those 
almost  imperceptible,  inhalations  ! 

Alan  poured  some  brandy  hastily  down  her 
throat.  It  seemed  to  rouse  her.  Her  heart  beat 
now  with  regular  pulsations.  She  was  coming  to  ! 
She  was  coming  to  again  ! 

They  watched  and  waited,  watched  and  waited, 
watched  and  waited  till  one  o'clock.  Then  Norah 
opened  her  eyes  faintly. 

"Is  she  here?     Is  she  here?"  she  cried,  staring 


i 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


219 


wildly   around   her.       "The   black   wonian  !     The 
black  woman  !  the  terrible  black  woman  !  " 

"Hush!  Hush!"  Alan  whispered.  "There  is 
no  black  woman.  We  are  all  here.  We  are  taking 
care  of  you.  See,  this  is  your  aunt ! — Hold  her 
hand,  Mrs.  Tristram.  Let  her  see  your  face 
now.     .     .     .     Norah !     Norah ! " 

But  Norah  gazed  still  wildly  in  front  of  her. 

"  Kalee  !  Kalee  !  "  she  cried  in  terrified  accents. 
"The  snakes!  The  snakes!  The  handkerchief! 
The  black  woman  !  Her  great  eyes  !  Her  cruel 
black  mouth  !  Her  pearly  white  teeth,  that  smiled 
so  horribly  ! " 

Alan  turned  with  a  stern  look  to  Sir  Donald 
Mac'rinnon. 

'  ee,  see,"  he  said,  "with  your  own  very  eyes, 
the  harm  you  have  done  here !  You  have  put  it 
into  both  their  minds  at  once — the  tool  and  the 
victim.  It 's  a  fixed  idea,  and  we  can  't  get  rid  of 
it.  They  've  acted  their  parts,  each  as  you  sug- 
gested to  them — one  the  Thug,  the  other  the  sacri- 
fice. They  're  both  of  them  still  half  in  the  mes- 
meric state,  and  the  haschish  has  had  the  effect  of 
prolonging  the  delusion.  If  she  keeps  this  infatua- 
tion, in  her  present  weak  state,  for  another  hour, 
she  '11  die  of  terror  !  she  '11  die  of  terror  !     We  shall 


220 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


m , : 


i, 


lii 


save   her  from  one  death  only  to  hand  her   over 
powerless  to  another  !  " 

Mr.  Keen,  who  had  been  helping  to  promote  the 
artificial  breathing,  stood  forth  once  more  with  a 
fixed  look  of  contrition.  He  was  deeply  moved,  in 
spite  of  his  livid  eyes  :  he  knew  and  felt  to  the 
very  bottom  of  his  soul  the  harm  he  had  been  in- 
strumental in  doing. 

"Let  me  try,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  long  thin 
hands  persuasively.  "They  were  both  very  hard 
to  wake  last  night.  I  expended,  perhaps,  too  much 
energy  in  mesmerizing  them.  They  were  only  very 
partially  awakened.  She 's  still  more  or  less  coma- 
tose, I  can  see  at  a  glance.  I'  11  try  a  few  passes. 
Perhaps  they'll  rouse  her." 

He  waved  his  hand  slowly  and  gently  above  the 
prostrate  form  of  the  pale  young  girl,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  quietly  on  hers.  For  a  moment,  Norah's  face 
grew  still  more  painfully  excited  :  then  the  muscles 
gradually  and  gently  relaxed,  beginning  to  assume 
a  more  peaceful  expression.  As  he  continued  his 
passes,  the  eyes  ceased  to  stare  wildly.  The  eye- 
lids closed  by  slow  degrees  above  them.  Her 
head  fell  back  into  a  natural  restful  attitude  on  the 
pillow. 

"You  haven  't  waked  her,"  Alan  said  with  a  long- 


lljii 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


221 


drawn  sigh  of  profound  relief:  "but  you've  done 
better ;  you  've  put  her  into  a  sound  and  normal 
sleep.  Leave  her  alone  now  till  she  wakes  of  her- 
self. Nothing  on  earth  could  possibly  be  better 
for  her." 


222 


I' 


' 


J     .H 


f ' 

■  1 

1 

1 

■ 

Kalee's  Shrine. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


FULFILMENT. 


Where  's  Olga  ?  "  Alan  asked,  at  last,  turning  with 
a  sigh  to  Mrs.    Hilary  Tristram. 

"In  the  next  room,  I  suppose,"  the  poor  woman 
answered  low,  holding  Norah  s  white  hand  gently 
in  her  own.  "Oh,  Mr.  Tennant,  Mr.  Tennant, 
how  can  we  ever  sufficiently  thank  you  !  Twice, 
twice,  you've  given  us  back  our  darling  !  " 

Alan  held  her  other  hand  a  moment  with  friendly 
pressure. 

"We  have  all  been  saved,"  he  said,  "from  a  ter- 
rible calamity.  I  myself  from  the  most  terrible  and 
unspeakable  of  all.  I  dare  not  think  of  it.  I  dare 
not  speak  of  it.  What  man  could  even  contemplate 
it  without  a  shudder  of  horror  ?  " 

For  that  haunting  mental  picture  of  Olga,  his 
own  beautiful,  tender-hearted,  delicate  Olga,  stand- 
ing up  deadly  pale,  in  a  common  felon's  dock,  and 
arraigned  alone,  before  a  stern  judge  and  twelve 
stolid  jurymen,  for  the  most  hideous  crime  known 


ng  with 

woman 

gently 

jnnant, 

Twice, 

riendly 

1  a  ter- 

)le  and 

I  dare 

mplate 

fa,  his 
stand- 
k,  and 
twelve 
ino  wn 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


223 


to  vile  humanity,  had  floated  all  those  hours  wildly 
before  his  excited  brain,  and  had  almost  unmannc?d 
him  for  the  task  of  saving  her.  He  had  thought  it 
out,  as  in  times  of  anguish  one  ivill  think  out  one's 
coming  misery,  down  to  the  pettiest  details,  the 
most  sordid  and  horrible  and  sickening  possibilities. 
In  those  few  short  hours  he  had  died  of  grief  and 
shame  a  thousand  times  over.  Last  night's  sus- 
pense, as  he  stood  waiting  for  the  slowly  crawling 
and  creeping  tide,  was  as  nothing  to  the  agony  and 
horror  of  soul  he  had  known  since  he  returned  to 
find  Olga — in  fact  if  not  in  intention,  at  law  if  not 
in  equity — a  murderer  !  A  murderer !  If  he  had 
spoken  harshly  and  angrily  to  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon, 
he  had  ample  grounds  for  it.  The  crime  that  the 
old  Highlander  by  his  superstition  and  folly  had 
forced  upon  Alan's  own  beautiful  innocent  Olga  was 
enough  to  make  any  man  stern  and  revengeful. 

For  Alan  Tennant  knew — knew  beyond  the  shadow 
or  possibility  of  a  doubt — that  Olga  herself  in  her 
waking  moments  was  utterly  incapable  of  hurting 
in  any  way  the  feeblest  or  tiniest  of  living  creatures. 
He  knew  that  she  loved  Norah  devotedly.  He  knew 
that  in  that  condition  of  will  to  which  the  mesmerist 
by  his  mere  bodily  power  can  reduce  some  of  the 
most  delicate  and  highly-strung  of  human  organiza- 


II 


!24 


Kalee's  Shrine 


V 


ii 


ill 


tions,  no  livin^^  being,  however  pure  or  good  or  true 
or  holy,  can  resist  the  most  hideous  or  ghastly  or 
wicked  of  suggestions  distinctly  presented  to  it. 
He  knew  that  under  such  circumstances  the  agent 
becomes  but  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  the  operator, 
working  out  unconsciously  as  in  a  vivid  dream, 
without  sense  of  right  or  wrong,  without  effort  or 
deliberation,  without  will  or  motive,  the  wildest 
fancy  or  maddest  impulse  of  the  more  active  in- 
telligence. He  knew  all  that— knew  it  to  the  point 
of  'bsolute  certainty  :  but  what  hope  or  chance  or 
prospect  was  there  that  he  could  ever  make  twelve 
hard-headed  British  jurymen,  with  a  hard-hearted 
English  judge  to  direct  them,  see  the  matter  in  the 
light  that  he  saw  it? 

Woe  betide  the  innocent  man  or  woman  whose 
actions,  however  righteous  or  however  unconscious, 
sin  against  the  hard-and-fast  technical  puerilities  of 
English  lawyers.  Though  their  souls  be  as  fair  and 
white  and  pure  as  Olga  Trevelyan's,  though  all  that 
is  wise  or  good  in  the  life  of  England  stand  aghast 
at  the  hideous  threatened  injustice,  those  implacable 
pedants,  with  their  clogging  precedents  and  their 
hair-splitting  distinctions,  will  nevertheless  tie  a 
noose  so  tight  round  the  culprit's  neck  that  the 
common   conscience   and  common  justice   of  the 


^i! 


Kak'c's  Shrine. 


225 


whole  startled  English  nation  will  never,  never  serve 
to  unfasten  it. 


f 


Alan  walked  slowly  into  the  next  room. 

"Where  is  Miss  Trevelyan  ?  "  he  asked  cf  the 
servant. 

'•  Here  I  "  the  girl  said,  with  her  finger  on  her  lip, 
pointing  vaguely  to  the  bed.  * '  Asleep.  Don't  wake 
her.  She  fell  asleep  the  minute  that  gentleman 
with  the  long  lingers  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  passage,  muttering." 

"Let  her  sleep,"  Alan  said,  sitting  down  on  the 
couch.  "Better  let  her  sleep  the  whole  effect  off. 
This  mesmeric  trance  has  been  very  terrible  in  its 
intensity  and  duration. " 

Olga  slept  soundly,  as  usual,  with  her  eyes  star- 
ing wide  open.  For  awhile,  she  lay  motionless  and 
quiet  on  the  bed,  but  presently,  the  servant  beckoned 
uneasily  to  Alan,  who  rose  at  once,  and  gazed  with 
anxious  eyes  down  upon  her.  Her  face  was  begin- 
ning to  be  horribly  distorted,  and  a  terrible  fixed 
look  of  fear  and  agony  seemed  to  grow  with  each 
moment  in  her  glaring  eyeballs.  It  was  clear  that 
another  paroxysm  waj  coming  on.  Alan  stood  and 
watched  it  closely  from  hard  by  in  breathless  excite- 
ment. 
J5 


Ill  I 


t 


1: 


111 

til 


226 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


r 


At  last,  moved  as  if  by  some  strength  not  her  own, 
she  started  to  her  feet,  quivering  like  an  aspen  leaf, 
and  stood  on  the  hearthrug,  wildly  facing  him. 
With  clasped  hands,  and  bent  head,  she  paused 
there  for  a  moment  in  deathly  silence,  her  great  eyes 
fixed  in  awful  earnestness  on  some  ghastly  object 
which  seemed  to  float  invisible  in  the  air  before  her. 
A  deep  voice  appeared  to  ring  unheard  in  her  ears. 
She  leant  forward  in  awe  as  if  to  catch  its  accents. 

"Kalee,  Kalee,"  she  murmured  low,  in  a  faint 
tone  :   "I  hear  you.     I  hear  you." 

Then  she  drew  herself  up  suddenly  into  an  im- 
posing attitude,  sublime,  tragic,  as  if  another  soul 
inspired  her,  and  cried  aloud  in  implacable  ac- 
cents : — 

"Choose;  choose;  between  me— or  Death.  You  have 
scorned  me  !  You  have  betrayed  me  !  This  choice  alone,  this 
choice  alone  remains  !     Obey  !     Ob'-y  me  !  " 

Alan  started  back  with  a  thrill  of  horrible  recog- 
nition. Sir  Donald's  pale  face,  looking  in  from  the 
passage  at  the  half-open  door,  answered  it  back 
mutely.  Both  at  once  read  aright  her  mysterious 
action.  Carrying  on  the  impulse  of  the  mesmeric 
state,  she  was  dramatizing  the  ideas  that  floated 
through  her  mind  :  acting  in  her  sleep  both  her  own 
part  and  the  part  of  Kalee. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


227 


She  dropped  her  head  submissively  once  more. 
A  cold  chill  ran  visibly  across  her  shapely  shoulders. 
Through  a  mist  of  horror  that  seemed  to  obscure  her 
vision  she  groped  with  her  hands  feebly  for  some  one. 

"Alan,"  she  cried,  "help  me!  help  me!" 

Alan  restrained  himself  with  a  terrible  effort. 
To  wake  her  now  would  be  no  less  than  homicidal. 

She  drew  herself  up  again  proudly  to  her  full 
height.  Her  voice  a  second  time  rang  cold  and 
majestic.  She  spoke  still  as  the  mouthpiece  of  the 
pitiless  Kalee  : — 

"  While  your  i;yes  remain  open  forever  in  sleep,  you  shall  have 
no  other  help  but  mine— but  Kalee's.  You  shall  see  me  floating 
like  a  black  Terror  for  ever  before  you.  You  shall  worship  me 
and  serve  me  all  your  life  long.  Mystical,  awful,  bloodthirsty, 
implacable,  I  shall  stand  beside  you  and  watch  over  you  always." 

Then  she  pealed  out  a  few  sonorous  w^ords  of 
rolling  Hindustani.  Sir  Donald  alone  knew  what 
they  meant : — 


*'  I  am  Kalee,  KaLe,  the  swarthy  fury,  of  a  hideous  counte- 
nance, dripping  with  gore,  crowned  with  snakes,  and  hung  round 
with  a  garland  of  skulls  at  my  girdle.  I  am  she,  the  horrible,  of 
mis-shapen  eyes  ;  menacing,  trident-topped,  riding  on  a  tiger : 
the  Black  One,  the  fierce,  the  terrible,  the  bloody-toothed.  My 
fangs  are  red  with  the  flesh  of  my  victims.  Choose,  choose,  this 
day,  which  you  will  take  :  choose,  between  me  and  Death,  my 


votary." 


228 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


if) 


It  was  part  of  the  long-forgotten  litany  of  Kalee, 
sung  over  her  cradle,  years,  years  before,  by  her 
ayah  in  India. 

Olga  hung  her  head  submissively  once  more. 
There  was  a  short  struggle— an  internal  struggle. 
Then  she  lifted  her  eyes  proudly  in  a  moment's 
defiance. 

"Let  me  choose  death,"  she  said.  "Let  me 
choose  death,  Alan,  if  death  means  innocence." 


HI 

Ni. 


The  paroxysm  was  over.  She  sank  back  orce 
more  exhausted  on  the  bed.  The  invisible  Presence 
seemed  to  fade  away,  vanquished  from  before  her. 
Kalee  had  fled— fled  discomfited,  But  her  eyes  stood 
open,  open  wide  as  usual. 

"Run  quick,"  Alan  whispered  to  one  of  the  ser- 
vants. "Borrow  a  case  of  instruments  for  me  and 
a  bottle  of  chloroform  from  Dr.  Hazleby's. " 

The  servant  ran,  and  returned  immediately,  bring- 
ing the  case  as  ordered,  and  a  small  phial.  Alan 
chose  a  lancet  carefully  from  the  box,  and  poured  a 
few  drops  of  the  chloroform  on  a  corner  of  his  hand- 
kerchief. Then  he  held  the  wet  spot  close  to  Olga's 
mouth.  It  took  immediate  effect.  She  breathed 
more  heavily.     The  chloroform  had  stilled  her. 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


229 


He  grasped  the  lancet   firmly  in  his  right  hand 
and  made  a  slight  incision,  with  dexterous  gentle- 
ness, first  on  the  right,    then  on  the  left  temple,  a 
little  below  the  two  wee  scars  left  by  the  flint  knife 
of  the   Indian    fanatic.     Each   cut  severed   a   tiny 
branch  nerve,  inhibitory  to  the  action  of  the  small 
muscle  which  closes  the  eyelid.     A  little  round  drop 
of  blood  oozed  slowly  forth  from  the  capillary  vessels 
on  either  side,  opened  by  the  lancet.     Alan  brushed 
them  away  lightly  with  his  own  handkerchief.     Next, 
he  loosed  with  the  sharp  blade  the  silken  string  that 
tied  the  silver  image  of  Kalee  round  her  throat.   The 
wretched  bauble  should  no  longer  remain  to  vex  her 
with  its    memories  and  recall  its  hideous  half-for- 
gotten associations.     He  took  out  his  pocket-knife, 
and  with  deliberate  fingers  hacked  the  soft  metal  in- 
to a  thousand  small  pieces.      It  was  pure  unalloyed 
silver,  like  most  Indian  jewelers'  handicraft,  and  it 
cut  easily  without  much  resistance.      He  flung  the 
shapeless  fragments  angrily  out  of  the  open  window. 
They  fell   unseen   among  the  grass  on   the  lawn. 
Kalee  was  annihilated— dead  and  gone,   for  Olga 
Trevelyan,  for  ever  and  ever. 

He  returned  to  the  bed.  The  action  of  the  oper- 
ation had  been  instantaneous.  Olga's  eyelids  lay 
closed  in   sleep,  with  her  head   resting  gently  on 


230 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


I        ' 


SI      : 

e 


ir 


the  smooth  white  pillow.  Her  rich  silken  hair, 
thrown  back  in  soft  tang^led  masses  from  her  brow, 
almost  shrouded  her  temples  from  sight ;  but  a  tran- 
quil smile  played  gently  about  her  lips,  and  she 
looked  like  some  Italian  picture  of  a  beautiful  saint, 
painted  in  the  days  when  saintliness  was  still  no 
rare  attribute  among  us.  Pier  long  dark  lashes 
closed  over  her  eyes,  that  were  never  more  to  be 
open  for  Kalee. 

"Let  her  sleep, "Alan  said,  "till  she  wakes  of 
herself.    Mr.  Keen,  come  here  !    Undo  your  passes  ! " 

The  mesmerist,  waving  his  long  thin  hands,  went 
through  the  releasing  movements  once  more,  exactly 
as  he  had  done  before  v/ith  Norah.  The  peaceful 
look  deepened  on  her  face  as  he  waved  them,  and 
the  gentle  eyelids  closed  tighter  and  tighter. 

Olga  Trevelyan  had  ceased  for  ever  to  be  a  votary 
of  Kalee. 


Alan  watched  her,  speechless,  by  her  side,  for 
hours  together.  She  slept  so  long,  he  almost  feared 
at  last  it  wac  as  she  herself  had  said  in  her  agony. 
Had  Kalee  claimed  her  ?  Was  Death  coming  to  put 
his  seal  at  length  upon  her  perfect  innocence  ? 


From  time  to  timCj  thev  step^^ed  in   noiselesslv 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


231 


and  brought  him  tidings  of  Norah  Bickersteth.  But 
Alan  himself  refused  to  move  from  Olga's  side.  He 
must  watch  still  over  her  safety. 

At  six,  she  woke.  She  woke  quite  naturally,  as  if 
from  ordinary  sleep.  Alan  and  the  servants  bent 
over  her,  inquiring. 

**  Alan,  Alan  !  "  she  cried,  lifting  up  her  hands  to 
him  joyfully.  "Then  it  s  all  right !  You  're  back, 
you  're  back  again  !  " 

''Yes,  yes,  darling,  "Alan  cried,  stooping  down 
and  kissing  her  for  the  first  time,  unabashed  by  the 
presence  of  others  in  so  terrible  a  moment.  "And 
Norah's  alive — alive  and  recovering.  She's  just 
taken  some  nourishment  this  minute." 

Olga  gazed  at  him  blankly  with  a  strange  look 
of  doubt  and  hesitation  on  her  beautiful  counte- 
nance. 

"Norah?"  she  said  in  an  inquiring  voice. 
"Norah?  Recovering?  From  what  is  she  re- 
covering ?  .  .  .  I  seem  to  remember.  .  .  . 
I  fancy  I  dreamed.  .  .  No,  no.  ...  I  don't 
know  anything  about  it.  Has  Norah  been  ill? 
Have  I  been  ill  ?  Have  we  slept  long  ?  What 's 
that  bottle  for  ?  Why  am  I  on  the  bed  here  ?  I 
can't  recollect  it  !  " 

Alan  drew  back  a  step  in  surprise. 


232 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


:  ii 


"  Thank  God  !  thank  God  !  "  he  cried.  "  She  was 
still  mesmerized  !  She 's  forgotten  every  word, 
every  word  about  it !  " 

As  he  spoke,  Mrs.  Tristram  glided  gently  into  the 
room. 

"Mr.  Tennant,"  she  said  in  a  low  vc  "never 

mention  anything  of  all  this  to  Norah  !  She  's  wide 
awake  now,  and  she  doesn  't  remember  a  moment 
in  any  way  since  she  first  fell  asleep  in  the  drawing- 
room  last  evening." 

Happily,  those  two  young  lives  were  spared  till 
long  afterward  all  knowledge  of  the  awful  drama 
in  which  they  had  uncons.  ously  played  the  part  of 
chief  actors.  They  only  knew,  for  the  present  at 
least,  that  that  horrid  mesmerizing  had  given  them 
both  a  serious  illness. 

Olga's  eyes  closed  automatically  for  a  second. 
They  opened  again  next  instant  with  a  burst  of 
astonishment. 

"Why,  what's  this?"  she  asked,  in  uncontrol- 
lable surprise.  "My  eyelids  seem  to  move  like  a 
hinge  of  themselves,  somehow." 

Alan  took  her  hand  tenderly  in  his. 

"I  have  cut  a  little  nerve  that  held  them  back," 
he  said.  "Henceforth,  Olga,  they  will  close  in 
sleep  like  everybodv  else's," 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


233 


"And  I  shall  never  have  those  horrible,  horrible 
dreams  again  ? " 

"  Never,  Olga  darling- ;  never  !  never  1  " 

She  let  her  head  fall  gently  back  against  his 
breast.  They  were  left  alone  now  for  a  single 
minute. 

"Alan,"  she  whispered,  low  in  his  car,  "my 
darling,  my  darling,  I  am  quite,  quite  happy." 


When  Olga  Trevelyan  and  Alan  Tennant  were 
married  at  St.  George's,  some  six  months  later, 
everybody  said  the  bride  was  looking  prettier  and 
stronger  than  she  'd  ever  looked  in  her  life  before, 
with  that  odd  expression  quite  gone  altogether 
from  her  face  and  eyes,  and  such  a  healthy  natural 
girlish  glow  on  her  cheeks  instead  of  it.  And  every- 
body considered  Norah  Bickerstcth  far  the  sweetest 
and  daintiest  of  the  four  bridesmaids.  So  much  so, 
indeed,  that  Captain  Leigh-Tennant  (Alan's  rich 
brother,  who  inherited  their  uncle  Leigh's  money) 
— that  dashing  young  officer  in  the  8th  Hussars — 
arrived  at  a  very  satisfactory  understanding  with 
her  in  the  dance  that  finished  up  the  day  's  festiv- 
ities. And  if  Plarry  Bickersteth  went  away  that 
evening  with  a  sore  heart,  muttering  to  himself  that 
even  Alan  Tennant,  good  fellow  as  he  undoubtedly 


I 


II 11 

i 


234 


!') 


n. 


I 


i  i  t 


Kalee^s  Shrine. 


was,  wasn't  half  good  enough  for  Olga  Trcvelyan, 
it  is  probable  that  in  the  end  he  will  illustrate  the 
truth  of  his  own  vaticination,  and  console  himself 
in  a  few  years'  time  with  some  other  girl  more 
nearly  his  coeval. 

As  to  Sir  Donald  Mackinnon,  when  he  recovered, 
somewhat  from  his  first  fright,  and  came  to  think 
the  matter  over  seriously,  he  would  shake  his 
sapient  head  at  times  and  mutter  in  a  wise  voice  to 
his  friend  Keen, — 

"My  dear  sir,  that  young  doctor-fellow  explained 
the  thing  on  strict  scientific  principles  very  glibly 
and  eloquently,  no  doubt :  but  for  my  part,  I  must 
say,  between  you  and  me,  when  I  come  to  put  two 
and  two  together,  I  somehow  fancy  that  in  spite  of 
everything,  there  must  be  a  little  kernel  of  truth 
after  all  in  the  Kalee  business." 

To  which  Mr.  Keen  would  answer  with  a  solemn 
shake  of  his  head, — 

"Nonsense,  Mackinnon;  that's  all  your  pure 
Highland  superstitiousness  and  nonsense.  Do  you 
want  me  at  my  time  of  life  to  begin  believing  in  a 
whole  pack  of  heathen  gods  and  goddesses  ?  The 
less  said  about  Kalee,  I  think,  the  better.  Be- 
tween you  and  me,  if  it  comes  to  that,  it's  a  pre- 
cious good  thing  for  us  two  that  that  young  doctor- 


Kalee's  Shrine. 


235 


I 


fellow  happened  to  conic  home  in  the  nick  of  time 
to  help  us  out  ofsuch  a  very  awkward  predicament. 
We  may  thank  our  stars  the  thing  was  all  hushed 
up  as  cleverly  as  it  was,  between  him  and  Mrs. 
Tristram.  It  'd  have  been  a  precious  fishy  business 
for  you  and  me,  I  can  tell  you,  my  friend,  if  the 
girl  had  gone  and  died  after  all,  and  we  'd  been 
mixed  up  in  the  hocus-pocus.  Kalee  wouldn't  have 
gone  far,  I  fancy,  to  help  us  out  of  it  with  a  cor- 
oner's jury." 

"But  how  about  her  brother?  "  Sir  Donald  once 
objected,  with  a  grim  smile  of  conclusive  logicality. 
''What  do  you  make  of  the  murder  of  her  brother- 
found  in  his  cradle  strangled,  you  know,  as  I  told 
you  that  day,  with  a  blue  line  right  round  his 
throat?  Who  on  earth  but  that  girl  could  possibly 
have  murdered  him  ?  " 

The  mesmerist  shrugged  his  shoulders  impa- 
tiently. 

"My  dear  Mackinnon,"  he  said  with  some 
asperity,  "how  should  I  know  how  everything  has 
always  happened  everywhere?  Am  I  an  Indian 
detective,  for  example  ?  Surely  the  fanatic,  who- 
ever it  was,  who  dedicated  the  girl  herself  in  the 
first  place  to  Kalee  (as  her  eyes  bore  witness), 
would  have  been   quite   capable   of  throttling   her 


\i 


236 


Kalee*s  Shrine. 


brother  into  the  bargain  as  a  sacrifice  to  his  deities? 
You're  quite  at  liberty  to  believe  in  Kalee  yourself, 
if  it  gives  you  any  personal  consolation  to  do  so  : 
but  I  for  my  part  utterly  refuse  to  have  anything  to 
say  to  these  strange  gods." 


I 


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irself, 
o  so  : 
ng  to 


Books 

for  m 

Elbrary 


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//these  books  are  not  on  sale  with  your 
bookseller,  they  can  be  ordered  through 
him.  Or,  on  receipt  of  the  price  in 
stamps,  by  check,  or  money  order,  they 
will  be  sent,  carriage  free,  to  any  part  of 
the  United  States  or  Canada. 


v 


i|i 


Books  for  the  Library 


Biography. 

Moltke's  Letters  to  His  Wife.  The  only 
Complt'te  lutition  puhlished  in  any  lan- 
guage. With  an  Introduction  by  Sid- 
ney Whitman,  author  of  "  Imperial 
Germany."  Portraits  of  Moltke  and  his 
wife  never  before  pubhshed.  An  Ac- 
count of  Countess  von  Moltke's  Family, 
supplied  by  the  Family.  And  a  genea- 
logical tree,  in  fac-simile  of  the  Field- 
Marshal's  handwriting.  Two  volumes. 
Demy  8vo,  $10.00. 

"  Beginning  in  1841,  the  year  before  his  marriage, 
these  letters  extend  to  within  a  short  time  of  his 
death.  Travels  on  the  Continent,  three  visits  to 
England  and  o.ie  to  Russia,  military  manccuvres, 
and  three  campaigns  are  covered  by  this  period, 
during  which  Captain  Von  Moltke,  known  only  as 
the  author  of  the  'Letters  from  the  East,'  grew 
into  the  greatest  director  of  war  since  Napoleon. 
These  most  interesting^  volumes  contain  the  rec- 
ord of  a  life  singularly  pure  and  noble,  unspoiled 
by  dazzling  successes.' —7 '//f  Times  (London). 

'•This  book  will  be  chiefly  valued  on  account  of 
the  insight  it  affords  into  the  real  dispositicm  of 
Moltke.  Indeed  it  will  surprise  many,  for  it  shows 
that  the  eminent  soldier  was  very  different  from 
what  he  was  ordinarily  conceived  to  be.  He  is 
supposed  to  have  been  dry  and  stern,  reticent, 
almost  devoid  of  human  sympathies,  and  little  bet- 
ter than  a  strategical  machine.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  such  an  estimate  is  somewhat  of  a  caricature. 
To  the  public  and  strangers  Moltke  was  cold  and 
silent,  but  to  his  family  and  friends  he  was  affec- 
tionate, open,  and  full  of  kindly  forethought.  .  .  . 
Ashe  was  a  keen  and  minute  observer,  his  opinion 
of  the  people,  countries,  and  sights  which  m  the 
course  of  his  life  he  saw,  is  of  interest  and  value." 
—  The  Athenceum  (London). 


ii: 


:1 


Books  for  the  Lihrarjf 


Life  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.  By  Prof. 
Edward  Dowden,  author  of  "  Studies 
in  Literature,"  "Shakspere:  His  Mind 
and  Art,"  etc.  New  and  Cheaper  Edi- 
tion. With  portrait.  One  volume.  Post 
8vo,  $4.50. 


This,  //le  standard  IJfe  of  Shelley,  is  now  pre- 
sented in  a  form  convenient  to  the  individual  stu- 
dent. It  has  been  revised  by  the  author,  and  con- 
tains an  exhaustive  index. 


The  Crimean  Diary  of  the  Late  Genera) 

Sir  Charles  A.  Windham,  K.C.B.     With 

an  Introduction  by  Sir  W.  H.  Russell. 

Edited  by  Major  Hugh  Pearse.     With 

an  added  chapter  on  the   Defence  of 

Cawnpore,  by  Lieut. -Col.  John  Ad  ye, 

C.B.     Demy  8vo,  $3.00. 

This  interesting  diary,  supported  and  amplified 
by  a  number  of  intimate  letters,  will  be  found  to 
reveal  much  that  has  hitherto  been  hidden  concern- 
ing the  mismanagement  of  the  Crimean  campaign. 
It  also  clears  from  adverse  criticism  the  name  and 
reputation  of  a  distinguished  and  gallant  com- 
mander. The  work  is  furnished  with  a  map  and 
explanatory  notes. 


I 


Eighty  Years  Ago;  or,  the  Recollections 
of  an  Old  Army  Doctor,  His  Adventures 
on  the  Fields  of  Quatre  Bras  and  Water- 
loo and  during  the  Occupation  of  Paris, 
1815.  By  the  late  Dr.  Gibney,  of  Chel- 
tenham. Edited  by  his  son.  Major 
Gjbney.     Crown  8vo,  $1.75. 


11 


Books  for  the  Library 


■ 


From  "The  Bells"  to  "King  Arthur." 

By  Clement  Scott.  Fully  illustrated, 
with  portraits  of  Mr.  Irving  in  character, 
scenes  from  several  plays,  and  copies  of 
the  play-bills.     Demy  8vo,  $3.50. 

From  the  memorable,  never-to-be-forgotten  even- 
ing when  Irving  startled  all  London  with  his 
Mathias,  in  "The  Bells,"  down  to  his  latest  play, 
"  King  Arthur."  A  critical  record  of  the  first-night 
productions  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  London.  Not 
the  least  interesting  feature  of  this  book  is  the 
superb  frontispiece— a  photograph  of  Mr.  Irving, 
with  autograph  in  fac-simile. 

Reminiscences  of  a  Yorkshire  Natu- 
ralist. By  the  late  William  Crawford 
Williamson,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.,  Professor 
of  Botany  in  Owens  College,  Manches- 
ter. Edited  by  his  Wife.  Crown  8vo 
Cloth,  gilt  top,  $2.25  net. 

"This  autobiography  gives  us  an  epitome  of  the 
advance  of  scientific  thought  during  the  present 
century,  with  the  added  charm  and  freshness  of  a 
personal  history  of  the  almost  ideal  scientific  career 
of  a  genuine  naturalist."— A^a/«r<?  (London). 

Anna  Kingsford:  Her  Life,  Letters,  Di- 
ary, and  Work.  By  her  Collaborator, 
Edward  Maitland.  Illustrated  with 
Portraits,  Views,  and  Fac-similes.  Two- 
volumes.  Demy  8vo,  896  pp.  Cloth, 
$10.00  net.     Second  Edition. 

Reviewed  as  "The  Book  of  the  Month"  in  Mr. 
Stead's  Revieiv  of  Reviews.  The  notice  occupies 
ten  pages  of  the  Review,  and  is  entitled  "  Mr.  Mait- 
land's  Life  of  Anna  Kingsford,  Apostle  and 
Avenger."  Mr.  Stead  concludes  as  follows : 
"Here  I  must  conclude  my  notice  of  one  of  the 
weirdest  and  most  bewildering  books  that  I  have 
read  for  many  a  long  day." 


Books  for  the  Library 


Rietory. 

How  We  Made  Rhodesia.  By  Major 
Arthur  Glyn  Leonard,  late  Second 
East  Lancashire  Regiment,  and  of  the 
Chartered    Company's    Police.     Crown 

8vo,  $2.25. 

An  account  of  the  early  movements  of  the  Char- 
tered Company's  Forces,  together  with  the  story 
of  the  men  who  made  the  country.  Major  Leonard 
was  himself  among  the  pioneers  of  the  South  Afri- 
can Empire,  and  moved  with  Rhodes,  Jameson,  and 
Rutherford  Harris.  Concerning  them  all  he  has 
frank  and  fearless  criticisms  ;  and  the  result  is  a 
book  full  of  the  openest  speaking  that  has  yet  taken 
place  with  regard  to  Rhodesia. 

"His  book  is  a  valuable  and  noteworthy  contri- 
bution to  the  history  of  the  origin  of  Rhodesia,  and 
throws  many  a  side-light  on  the  character  and  aims 
of  those  who  undertook  the  task  of  making  it." — 
The  Times  (London). 

A  Narrative  of  the  Boer  War;  Its  Causes 

and  Results.     By  Thomas  Fortescue 

Carter.     Demy  8vo,  574  pp.,  $3.50. 

Describing  the  indirect  causes  of  the  war ;  the 
act  of  annexation  ;  the  direct  causes  of  the  war  ; 
the  inception  of  the  struggle  ;  the  battles  ;  the 
peace  ;  and  a  journey  through  the  Transvaal. 


The  Highland  Brigade  in  the  Crinnea. 

By    Lieut. -Col.    Anthony    Sterling. 

Demy  8vo,  $3.00 

The  author,  afterward  Sir  Anthony  Sterling, 
K.C.B.,  served,  practically,  throughout  the  war, 
and  on  his  return  he  privately  printed  some  copies 
of  his  correspondence,  for  distribution  to  his  friends 
and  to  a  few  selected  libraries.  Recently  it  was 
thought  wise  to  publish  this  book  as  a  salutary 
record  of  the  mismanagement  that  has  too  fre- 
quently attended  military  expeditions. 


IJli 


